Breaking the Curse

Venom-heavy moon or the dark
side without hands, like on Magnolia
street with Spanish moss hanging
in soft lime curls low enough for us

to graze as we ramble each other’s trails.
Shore of Ana Island surrounds nothing
but cigarette smoke and tapestries
covering the beach, threaded with all

the strings of simpler times, only
heartache to us now, etched onto skin
or in the sage-covered hut of the heart.
We’re not talking about red roofs

anymore, hardly using words,
mouths not opening for water or ware.
Soft grip of moon full of waning,
wanting to spool threads of stars

around your bluing finger. I’ll bring
shears instead, tearing across memories
of creaks in chipping seafoam surfaces,
rough touch of something faint that won’t

stay in the catastrophe of the past—So many
nights thinking of the foreground, thinking
of waves cross-country, thinking of giving
you up and not caring about direction

or light. Empty palms, done with being
disarticulated skeletons hoping to find
fire in a salt-bath without veins, not willing
to be the wildfire or avalanche to set off…

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4 thoughts on “Breaking the Curse

  1. there is a shift in the fifth stanza, away from the “Venom-heavy moon,” the eroticism of Magnolia Street and the haziness of Ana Island, to a desire for breaking out of the old paradigm by “tearing across memories.” the “Empty Palms” could be either hands or trees — in either case an image of, perhaps, despair or futility. but the palms are “done with being disarticulated skeletons.” a transformation seems imminent.

    Liked by 1 person

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