katrina guarascio

 

 

Frailty


I canít stand to watch you drop another glass.
So instead we toast a drink together
over the telephone.

Her pictures are pinned on the tile
around your bathroom mirror,
and as we speak, I feel you stare,
absently hoping arms will come out of coat and color
to touch you again.

You ask me what I know about human frailty,
I remind you of the bite on my neck
and the fingerprints on my hipbone.

Itís good I donít bruise easily.

We make a recording studio
out of the too small bathroom.
You say itís because you sound
best in the shower,

but I know you prefer her face
against the reflection of my voice.

I puzzle your portrait together,
squares ill fit and fragmented,
I tried to capture your intonation
when you say her name,
but the colors smear before they dry.

Last Thursday morning,
you scribed a poem on the back my thigh
and the skin still reddens where
you left your vowels.

I want to dance with you,
trip under unbalanced steps,
pose your cigarette on unpainted lips.

I want to read all your letters out loud,
over and over,
but you are too consumed with
watching my paint drip from your forearm
to hear my spin on your words.

You stumble,
slur your speech,
use death as an excuse for a cold bed.
The creases in your boots remind me
how long I waited for you to come again.

You tell me,
in the mumble hours of the morning,
you love me still.

I tell you
I finished the painting
and it looks nothing at all
like frailty.



Katrina K Guarascio is a writer and teacher living in Albuquerque, NM. As an active member of the poetry community, she has worked as an editor for various literary magazines and small presses, along with hosting bi-weekly poetry workshops and producing various poetry performances, including The Smokiní Slam, Rio Ranchoís only monthly Poetry Slam and Open Mic. Along with many small press and e-zine publications, she is the author of two chapbooks of poetry and two book length publication previously released through Casa De Snapdragon publishing entitled A Scattering of Imperfections and They donít make memories like that anymore...


 

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