by Bea Garth, copyright 2009
(From Conversations To Greg Hall–written July 1, 4:30 A.M.)
How was I to know marrying white breasts with your long fingered hands is what you did, is what you do when I take off my shoes, my feet aching, knowing you will soothe them. Soon my buttons are undone our kisses sweeter than the peaches and guavas ripening outside, tiny buttons, your fingers traipsing over my shirt; we dance to Hank Williams, the Beatles the Beats —those fifties and seventies moves as we sidle our bodies closer. You got back with your blonde girlfriend and I with a new beau but it was never really over and still isn’t even though the fat lady finally did sing and you left with the pretty Latina detective – her black police uniform hiding her white breasts shrouding her and the waiting coroner from the truth: you are still alive, more vibrant than the guava tree outside your bedroom window, the smoke still coloring your walls sepia and ochre, your silver ashtray still sits on the front porch now surrounded by roses.
How was I to know marrying white breasts with your long fingered hands is what you did, is what you do when I take off my shoes, my feet aching, knowing you will soothe them. Soon my buttons are undone our kisses sweeter than the peaches and guavas ripening outside, tiny buttons, your fingers traipsing over my shirt; we dance to Hank Williams, the Beatles the Beats —those fifties and seventies moves as we sidle our bodies closer. You got back with your blonde girlfriend and I with a new beau but it was never really over and still isn’t even though the fat lady finally did sing and you left with the pretty Latina detective – her black police uniform hiding her white breasts shrouding her and the waiting coroner from the truth: you are still alive, more vibrant than the guava tree outside your bedroom window, the smoke still coloring your walls sepia and ochre, your silver ashtray still sits on the front porch now surrounded by roses.
Oh my, Bea, but this took my breath away.
Thanks Kelly! I am glad you like the poem, even though the circumstances weren’t/aren’t the best…
Am hoping to make it to your poetry reading this coming Monday by the way. Don’t want to miss a chance hearing you read again. Originally had invited Greg…since he was a fan of yours too.
Maybe I can read this poem there if there is an open mic.
Bea