Sonnet For a Nightingale

source

I thought I heard the nightingale again

But it was only wind under the eave

I doubt that this cruel night will ever end

Should morning come, will it bring a reprieve?

You didn't leave a message, didn't phone

Your absence rings so loudly I can't hear

The night's the hardest time to be alone

But if I must, be kind and make that clear

If blinded to reality, deceit

may force a nightingale to sing all day

But hear the bitterness within the sweet

Its sorrow the false notes do not allay

You keep me in the dark with silent lies

I sing for you through tears and blinded eyes.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Bits of Inspiration, Nightingale

Mother

You always called me

your little tsouris

I thought it was a term of endearment
Like a lost word,

[it comes] back unbidden *

with your memory

You said you knew

the dark spirits would follow me

because my name was uttered

in your eighth month
 You tried

to love me but

when you looked at me,

you saw the dybbuk

and recoiled

You accused me 

of trying to turn you into a ghost

when I named my doll after you

I didn't know

I was only ten

On your grave today

I placed a stone

I'm still trying, Mother.

* For Ella's prompt, we were instructed to include a line from a ghost poem. I chose "Unbidden" by Rae Armantrout

Poet's Notes: I've made mention of several Jewish words superstitions in this poem:

• tsouris = heartbreak, worry
• uttering baby's name during pregnancy will alert evil spirits
• dybbuk = an evil spirit that possesses the living
• naming a baby after someone still alive is akin to wishing them dead
• instead of flowers, Jews place a stone when visiting a grave

submitted for Magpie Tales, Mag 242
and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Play It Again, Toads #10, Hallows Edge

Ouija

source

When I was a child

The line between doubt and belief

was permeable

a meandering current in a stream

between reality and imagination

How I loved to cross that portal,

to lift the veil of certainty

that disguises the world of possibility

We had a ritual:

Winter was best

as dark came early,

before we had to go home for dinner

Sit in a circle

with the board in the middle,

each of our hands resting ever so lightly

on the indicator

Wait

At first we thought it a trick

But we pinky swore it was not

The spirit was speaking

We were the conduit

Soon, the game became unnecessary;

We just held a pencil

and it spoke to us

in smoky, graphite

Over time

amorphous scribbles became

differentiated

Scenes of destruction, fire, slaughter

emerged from our own hands

without our intent

Our feast of fun

became fear, force-fed

I made the decision

to sacrifice the board

and, along with it, the drawings

Sealed in a trash bag to be carried away

with the week's junk mail

and coffee grinds

Belief and doubt battle to this day

Childhood fantasy or

something wicked narrowly avoided

Belief usually wins out.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Get Listed for October
and It's Ma Thing

A Grain of Truth

photo by glitterdarkstar

You pour lies into my waiting cup

I drink them greedily

like an addict

They go down

smooth and warm

They feed

a lack

I know they devour

as they fill

Leave a bigger hole

in my soul

This is how I exist:

empty fullness

full emptiness

Craving more

You always oblige

I hate you

I want more.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Sunday Challenge, In Other Words

After

source

She wraps herself in sheets

stained with tears and sweat

She has been stripped

of something vital

that she can't quite name

It makes no sense-

She had wished it all away

but still,

there was an undeniable connectedness

She makes the sign of the cross

though she stopped believing long ago

She closes her eyes

feels between her legs

She bleeds

a broken poem.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday
and The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 181

October

photo by songs of light

October is a cruel month

She doles out sunlight

like a petulant child forced to share her candy

Too hot to bundle up

Too cool to strip down

October relishes discomfort

She paints flowers and leaves

the color of dirt

just to remind you

that nothing lives forever.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Words Count With MZ, Personification