Dark Sunrise
by Ringa Sunn
Sometimes it was the moon I met
on that roof, not you.
You, whom I had only known
in that blue glow
moving through teardrops
and family ties. Under those skies,
you became a cat
and I, a bird watching
from above where the moon hung,
stealing the sleep from my wet eyes,
dropping light and emotion
into our hearts.
I picked up a stray feeling
and lent it to you, unaware
of how you would change it
in those few free nights
when you never slept.
In the darkness I drifted away,
falling into music and finally—
a smile.
Now the river overflows,
reflecting the pale stars above,
over land that used to be
this village.
Alone, I float in the dusk
while the messenger brings
the news:
He is dead.
I’ll never see the sun again.
Time Must Be Going Backwards
by Ringa Sunn
There have been too many words
and too many drinks
rolling around my tongue
between my teeth—
tequila flavored mouthwash
that will leave little white spots
around my fillings
below my gums.
Make the dentist frown
as his latex fingers poke and prod.
Little round mirrors I want to bite,
break into tinier pieces and gulp down
so my liver can see exactly
what the damage is.
Is it me or is the light
outside brighter today?
I forgot the date
only because it is important
and secretly admitted to myself
that the phone bill
wasn’t getting paid this month.
If I was in 1807 instead of now-
before wi-fi and espresso-
would I still be writing poetry?
This is the part of me that people can see
concrete and realistic.
I think I would not like to live
two centuries ago
just to become invisible.
Don’t you ever ask me those questions
about no place and where it is I’m going.
My vagabond eyes are
out of focus and in pain.
Fuzzy with liquor
and the thought of you.
Nowadays the thought of you
is best kept in the past.
The thought of you all those years ago
makes my blood vessels congeal then burst
like a Tupperware bowl of cherry jello
that was dropped and had exploded.
Outside always looks like rain.
Let’s put my poetry on the coals tonight;
fire them up on the hookah.
One deep breath
and I put them back inside me.
Careful not to exhale.
Am I being selfish if I don’t pass the pipe
or obedient in a world of no smoking signs?
One more drink couldn’t hurt;
the dentist won’t mind.
Can you see me now?
