Stationary at Midnight

From the backseat of my car
you dip a cigarette
into the night’s deep pool
the ripples of ash
fall away like whispers of rain
or skin –
the way people tiptoe into dust
in the corners of their smooth floors.
Someday we’ll all leave each other
and I’ll never know
what your eyes are trailing off
upon
Perhaps some deep forested mirage
leading a path away
from these soldiering lights
or some dream you’ve had
on the tip of your tongue but have yet
to speak to the light.
We’re the only car in the lot.
12 a.m.
The radio blasts bluebirds

Amidst the shadows your eyes
open up into pale opals
you lean and bend against the cracked window
as if opened anymore
you’d follow your own exhaled smoke out the door
just to see where it could go

Between songs I hear our lungs breathing
I hear the life we lose and gain
with each minute
You don’t know I’m watching you,
that you have the kind of mind
I’d take a jewel hammer to
tap lightly, invite open, a robin’s egg.

And as I hold your face up
to my light’s eye
translucent shell
I see the pulse of a tidal pool
rolling in and out with air
I see the silhouette of each new breath
Your blood is made of gold filament
and I wish I could capture this forever
your green glow
your blue-green glow
like sea water lit from below

This entry was posted in Poetry, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Stationary at Midnight

  1. ahh. gorgeous and wistful. that last image is a stunner.

  2. Lindsey says:

    Parking lot outside Bistro?
    Fond memories of Bluebirds, cigarettes and my ladies.

    • rachvb says:

      A writer never reveals her secrets. Or if she does she’ll reveal them in a way to make them seem even more secretive. Just go with it 😉
      xo
      and just for the record – in case my mother is reading this – I DID NOT partake in the cigarettes, just the second-hand smoke.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

 

Valid XHTML Strict and CSS