Two Poems

by Danielle Perez

swelter;

sticky with fecund heat,
thighs clinging to the leather of
my seats when i lift them,
prop them, listen
while silversmoke made
bluish against nightscape
skies wreathes a gentle poison.

he’s revving his engine; this is
the mating call of boys back home.
a group of girls that hold back
their giggling, swing their hips,
wanting in the hot dark to be
seen as women. because it
is to women he is calling.

i want to tell them blood between
their legs and nail polish on their fingertips
does not make them women.

in their gestures they are children;
the way one nervously pushes
a stack of plastic bracelets along
her wrist, or how her friend does not
look at the man who watches them
with hunger.

they walk past my window, open
to let in the thick and cloying heat,
midwest in the summertime; not
petrichor and bruised pine. it
is cement and dust and the embers of
my cigarette, hanging from my
dangled fingertips.

not an invitation; the girls
move beyond me and
i meet the man’s eyes;
i flick ash his way with
a
slow
movement

touch them and i’ll put it out in your eye

try me.

the summersweat makes me damp
and cross. it lends to my teeth an
edge that might not otherwise be there.

he leaves.

i wait for the too-loud
sound of his engine to die from
earshot before i relax again

ecstasiate

summer heat, summer rain
but it was spring for ships passing,
and winter during the words
of stilted suggestion to warm shores

spring rain flowing down glass,
and sunflower gold on the rending
of mountain flanks

summer when a reverent demigod
arrived on those selfsame sands

midnight blossoms in moonlit glimmer,
wreathed in delight from triptych mouths

sundowning wintertime in the garden
not of eden but of gethsemane
where holy men go to eke out
a thousand tiny deaths


 


Danielle Perez is a pining Pacific Northwesterner who currently lives, writes, and raises two children in the Midwest. She was a founding member of the Indianapolis Poetry Orgy, a small collective focusing on the spoken word of local writers. She was recently published in The Indianapolis Review, a local publication. Danielle’s hobbies include caffeine, insomnia, memes, and loudly declaring that Pluto is indeed a planet. Take that, NASA.
https://theindianapolisreview.com/no-morphine/

 

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