Black Eye

The stale warm air
Inside the bus caused
A wave of fog to cover
Her glasses with its
Thick sheen, her gloves
Fumbling to remove them
As she finds an empty seat
Near the front door.

An old woman sitting
In the seat adjacent
Stares at her bruises,
Inspecting the young
Girl’s asymmetry as if
The broken vessels held
A clue to why they broke.

At the next stop, a man
Enters and stands in the
Aisle between the two
Women, his weight shifts
So as to stop himself from
Lurching backwards with
The momentum of the bus.
He whistles. “Quite the
Shiner you got there, miss.”
The girl tucks her hair
Behind one ear, expression
As blank as the sky outside:
Grey and unmoving as slate.

He doesn’t know the rush
Of adrenaline she felt in
That moment, when she
Decided that that was the
Last time her husband
Would ever hit her again.
He couldn’t feel the
Weight of the wine bottle
In her hands as she struck
Him over the head, nor
The sense of freedom-
God, the fucking freedom!
Of pushing him over the
Railing of that bridge,
The labored splash of her
Husband’s unconscious
Body hitting the river
Below was a symphony
To her ears that morning.

Finally, she looked up, and
Saw the man’s smile fade.
“You should have seen
The other guy,” she said,
With a devious grin.

MSBQ

Chiaroscuro

The dance between
Darkness and the light
Is so much more than
Most can comprehend;  
Go stones arranged
In spiraling boxes of  
Black and white.

If we were honest
With ourselves,
The keen eyes of the
Renaissance painters
Understood balance
Better than most.
The light accentuates,
And darkness obscures,
Yes, but both are truth.

Our inner balance is
Akin to the stars above.
Like the deafening blast
Of pulsing stars, adrift
In an endless ocean of
Sheer and empty void,
We cling to the lights
That arrive in our orbit.
And just like the stars,
None of them last forever.

MSBQ

Black Sheep

Distant streetlights bounced
To and fro as he jogged down
The puddle-ridden lane. The
Torrential rainfall had finally
Subsided, and now as he made
His way along the river-bank,
A thick mist lowered itself onto
The city skyline. Everything
Was damp, soaked to the bone.
He stopped, briefly, at the
Very edge of the bike path,
To catch his breath and gaze
Across the hazy river, moving
So slowly that it was almost
Imperceptible.

He remembered his father’s
Final words, as he stood there
Still unable to process them:
“Fortune favors the bold.”
As if there were some magic
Doorway that he had only to
Step through and his life
Would fall into place.

The nurses had said he went
In the night, peacefully.
How did they know he didn’t
Wake, and question himself?
How could they know?
Black sheep still give wool,
And his father would not
Accept Death’s shears
Without a good fight.
Now, as mist permeated
His loose layers of clothing
And saturated his soles,
He could almost hear his
Father’s stifled laughter:
“Go out there and live.”

MSBQ