poetry, prosetry

Daughters of descending dusk

Who was that girl, covered in cheap thrill?

the one who got so happy when you looked her way

who drew you paintings

kept your dirty shirt

pushed you on the swing-set even though we both weighed too much

days of over-size flannel and Doc Martens

Smashing Pumpkins versus Hole

you said I looked like

Ione Skye

you didn’t resemble

John Cusack

while the studious exchange students with excitement hangovers

wouldn’t climb out of their window and meet in the high weeds park

even by then I knew how to have sex in public without my skirt getting wet

who needed second base?

go all the way and work backwards

you weren’t the wrong choice were you?

wearing eyeliner and forgetting birth control

all then, a bad trick in adolescent undergrowth

slurs are girls with provocation

before social media calumny

dimpled notes

inking who gives the best head

who has the firmest … grasp

you have me laid open in your sweat shirt like a dissected stag beetle still able to feel its shell

sent me crayon colored tapes where you exulted my willingness

I sang on my knees like Marianne Faithful with a throat-full

thinking you filled me with more than noise

riding our bikes after, sore between the legs

slow were the socially awkward who did it right first time, soothing off their spectacles for CEO jobs

while we daughter’s of descending dusk

carved deep our error

in the inside of our doughy thighs

the days a road lay empty as a girl’s hands

saturating smell of popcorn

fantasizing backward to the beginning

illuminated by glow stars on the ceiling of his room

habits inching across failings

unfinished sympathies

how can a song collapse a heart?

wishbone shaping the way like Baba Yaga’s dance of skeletons

we who didn’t need food

ran ragged on empty

female cranberry bogs filled with ire and specter

and one day we were no longer young

staring down at boxes of cassettes and letters tied with pieces of the past holding up a manikin who could once have been us

now unsure in twilight of age

as time will betray all but deepest memory

adhering despite all attempt

to dissuade


27 thoughts on “Daughters of descending dusk

  1. A master of poetic craft and a memory flash to the good old times.

    This line got me:

    how can a song collapse a heart?

    wishbone shaping the way like Baba Yaga’s dance of skeletons

    A song or any song of that matter moves the heart emotionally, & painfully.
    Baba Yaga the skeletons is a metaphor of things we are afraid of and wish not to be, but to confront the dark in our most inner strength and ward off the demons that lurk our way.

    Beautifully written as always sis. πŸ™‚

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Pingback: Gift for a Hot-Girl – Flash 365

  3. So goddamn gorgeous..and that loud thumping you heard in the background is my heart when you said, “Ione Skye” Gods, i was so in love with that crooked smile of hers. Love!! ❀

    Liked by 1 person

  4. christianmoniz says:

    This is such an incredible piece. My favorite lines are: “while we daughter’s of descending dusk/ carved deep our error/ in the inside of our doughy thighs.” That hit home for me. It’s extremely intimate. Thank you for sharing!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. So often, after I read one of your poems I am left with inadequate words to describe the tremendous emotion, feelings, memories, and thoughts your amazing poetry evokes in me. What a beautifully nostalgic poem, with a contemporary feel. I must confess even though I have never been the type that could remember the long list of movies any actor/actress has been in, I do like John Cusack, but had to google who Ione Skye was… I suck at pop culture trivia, lol…. I think it’s some sort of mental defect I have, I’m the same way with music… I love music, all kinds, but don’t have a list of artists or their song titles readily available for my brain to recall… hence I really suck at name that tune as well…. wow, I really wondered off topic on this comment haha ღ

    Liked by 2 people

Tell us what you really think. We don't bite. Ok, most of us don't bite.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s