Great Kills Review

Winter 2008 – Volume II, issue 1

 

 

 

Lyn Lifshin

 

 

 

Red, All Colors Linked To Poor Soil

 

 

truthfully, when “flamboyant” is how

you describe some ballroom dress

or a mini skirt on a woman who’s

worn them the third time around they

are in fashion, don’t you see that look,

you know the one that’s half scorn,

half jealousy, that “she’s over sixty,

how can she flaunt those legs” or that

what do pre teens expect, going out with

fishnet and belly buttons and more exposed.”
You know what I mean so why not admit it.

I wonder if it’s like with trees, the splash

of red fall color,-- sure we know the

old colder temperatures and chlorophyll

story but some trees also appear to flame

with deeper red pigments, wildly bright

and eye catching, flamboyant yes but

their roots are in soil that’s low in nutrients.

They have nothing to protect the leaves,

delay their decay. They are struggling. They

have trouble adapting. So next time you

look over at a woman you might call

a floozy in her satins and lace hose or skirt

showing more than you think it should, in

those fuck me shoes and sequins, imagine her

lonely, aching for what could protect her,

hold her, something she doesn’t have.

And for those baby Lolitas, just for a minute,

kiss your own child for them, pray the cold

in their life doesn’t get them

 

 

 

Like The Woman Whose Father Wrote Calligraphy On Her Body She

 

 

could only want men

who later did, as if

she was rare paper,

the only surface

worthy of their words.

It was as if even the

act, the attention to

each curve of ink,

the whiteness of

her body, and the

way each letter

was a caress and

how, absent, what was

deepest inside him

was part of her, was

in her blood, would

grow as she would and

be the last thing she

could hold on to,

be there when she

died, even if he wasn’t.

 

 

 

His World Was

 

 

becoming his

last world

 

early. It was

lighter than

 

the day before,

He had leaped

 

under a cloud

less sky and

 

this time

those clouds,

 

concrete angels,

caught him

 

and wouldn’t

let him go

 

 

“Red, All Colors Linked To Poor Soil” © 2008 by Lyn Lifshin

“Like The Woman Whose Father Wrote Calligraphy On Her Body She” © 2008 by Lyn Lifshin 

“His World Was” © 2008 by Lyn Lifshin

 

*All rights reserved by the author – no work may be reprinted without the express consent of its author.

 

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