Poetry

Tamra Plotnick

Night Blossom

“You’re the mean and gentle flower
in my sentimental night”*

Though your countenance is dour
your aroma conjures blithe
petals shooting scarlet toward an unsuspecting sky
Like a field, I lie beneath you wond’ring when your bud will ply.
As I languish in the shadow
of your stingy dearth of words,
my vestal garden’s fallow,
my forlorn caress perturbs
the apathetic timbre of your inward gazing eyes
till your stamen grows to wander and your stamina surprise.

Da New York Sky

Chrysler Building
mercury injects sky
I’m sayin
why he leave me dry,
Foolish and still more foolish
lendin me ears
to da growls of da street
and me lips to da gossip
nevermind da love

I hear da chatter
Girl says:
Vinnie dyin to see
that goddam skirt on me
Boy says:
gimme milk on consignment
Da old man shouts:
I got AIDS and I bite

And I got nuttin but ta
lap it up
and save it
and say it

Cuz if I listen
to da old silver sky
I hear its blue linin
howlin from behind
And its twin, sea
bellows back at me
tells me where it got him
tucked in da arms of waves

And I’m left
like a crazy one
wavin
at da New York sky

Chains on Urban Teen

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
                                   — Shakespeare, Macbeth
Those tracks
round your neck,
    a train of thought
    that shocks
        streaks of silver
        through the clouds of your dome
            while the engine in your ears
            motors the mouth
                  of some mind
                  yours? theirs? mines?
                      rapping
                      at all times
                           like the train of waves of brains
                           just flagging? “signifying nothing”?
                                 sampled for style?
                                 traveling nowhere fast
                                       aboard the scream-n-steam express
                                       round and round
                                           chugging like chattel’s
                                           choker chain