I Fall in Love with a Photo of e.e. cummings in a New Yorker Magazine While in the Waiting Room of an Opthamologist’s Office
it's black and white
he's looking intently
away from the camera at
a parade of lower case 'i’s
a hyphened world
linear time and rhyme
disappear in a desert
of white stallions
my eyesballoon
at handsome
i need to nestle in his
supra sternal notch
feel his swallows
as they gather
on telephone wires
stretched
from limb
to beautiful
limb.
Margaret Roncone
I carry my father's face above my shoulders floating like a raft. A piece of antler tears the sky as an old woman slowly walks a bereft dog. I watch her, one eye closed to the sea of memory and mansions. Maybe in my craving for sustenance I strangely resemble someone else. The reflection in the mirror is a different child whose sunhat sits akimbo. See how lips work without speaking. It is a star’s desire to nest in the cradle of heaven.
Margaret Roncone
Miles at Sea
the lighthouse is a blink in the
eye of the great white
years ago I had you
tied to a floating dock
I wet my eyes daily
with salt water
tears not for you
but for thousands who would
never know your lazy walk
your hands holding two worlds
paths through woods
twisted our hearts
eventually we disentangled
frayed rope
sandy embankments
no foothold.
Margaret Roncone