pair of aces

The shredded hem of my skirt
drips platitudes
across the worn linoleum
of the little house on
the mountain where we
used to make
love, condensing
it to a milliliter of truth
for every lonely Sunday morning,
sad as unused Peach Bowl tickets.

The front door frame
is stained with my shadow
and the cat’s green eyes
still shine when you
come home
after dinnertime,
our contrite claws
diving for diamonds
in your unmined heart.

26 thoughts on “pair of aces

  1. a milimeter of truth on the floor…nice…and the lonely sunday morning really sets the tone of this piece…the still smiling and claws mining for those diamonds leaves me a bit of hope…and next time i will take the tickets…smiles.

  2. The language is distant, formal, aloof – all too appropriate for the sense of disconnection the narrator is expressing at where life has taken her…nice work!

  3. Excellent resonating images here- the second stanza struck me. In that stanza I love how you move from a common experience for most pet owners- but then took the image of the cat-following it up with claws, (Our), incredibly drawn. Thanks for the read

  4. I Don’t Know Nuttin”

    Can the poet be there and not there at the same time?
    The love maker and the sufferer and the observer–All One in awareness?
    Or is it toggling up and toggling down, positive and negative subatomic particles
    Playing a circular game of “tag you’re it”?
    Spinning round and round, chasing polar orbits in a bi-polar way
    I’m happy, I’m sad, Fuck me, Fuck me harder ’til I’m inside out
    It’s that itch I can never scratch.
    It’s that yearning rawness that begs for fresh air.
    I am here but I reject what has been put on my platter.
    Somebody is lying to me besides Bush and Cheney.
    There must be more, something else.
    Why does the dog dig so furiously in our garden?
    If the treasure is there, why didn’t I find it last night?
    Tugging at your soul with my tongue?
    Now I am left with nothing but reflection.
    I suppose I have only one palliative
    To pick up the pen and write.

  5. Wondering where we were to end up? The images are fantastically painted. The shadow stain…love that! You ALWAYS pull awesome lines to string your pieces together!

  6. Beautiful poem! Great opening line, and “condensing it to a milliliter of truth” is sheer genius. I also like the way the title blends themes of gambling, street smarts, and singularity that carry throughout the poem.

  7. “The front door frame
    is stained with my shadow”… some of the best poetic lines I have read in some time..
    The weight of the words in this poem is palpable..
    really an outstanding poem..

  8. an “unmined heart” Seems today far too many people are out to indeed mine hearts. And leave them barren and depleted and raped of precious metal and gems of love and goodness. Hearts should be shared and embraced but never dynamited by the plundering heart and soul miner. Curse them for they are like Aztec priests ripping goodness from our breasts. If yours remains unmined you are blessed. Protect it.

  9. Thank you all for your kind comments! I find them so interesting to read and to see that what struck each person was not necessarily the same, in either imagery or impression… which to me makes sense, since I had no clear purpose when I embarked on the voyage of this piece, no sense of where it was going to go. It started out as a workshop exercise, where as a group we wrote random lines, put them all in a hat and then swapped, kinda like playing “go fish” with lines of poetry. Some of the lines I drew included a few of the ones that stuck out here: “sad as unused Peach Bowl tickets,” “the cat’s eyes twinkle when you come home [late],” and “the mountain where we make love.” (My own contributions –that didn’t get traded away– included “diving for diamonds” and “milliliter of truth.”) It was a fun exercise, and I’m sure I’ll be mining through those lines for more inspiration for a good while yet. 🙂


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