zOmbi POme

Today’s contribution for Zombie Week comes from author Mark Zahn, who was very kind about letting me share a poem from his book, King Pumpkin: A Celebration of Hallowe’en in Verse.

zOmbi POme

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Perfection

Nine pounds of perfection

with Lake Michigan eyes on a hot August day

ten fingers, ten toes

and Hollywood lips.

She’s got her father’s dimples.

So you must be wrong

She’s all right.

If you remove the tubes and wires

turn off the blinking lights–

Let me hold her and you’ll see.

Once she’s in my arms

hearing my voice

her skin against mine

she’ll be fine.  Really.

You can’t know her like I do.

She’s a fighter.

We were one for nine months

I understand her.

She should be with me

not in your little plastic box

surrounded by masks and gloves.

She needs me.

My baby is just fine.

You’ll see.

Perfection.

Acquaintance

We raced two sticks in a moonlit stream

hand in hand

we ran alongside

shouting, cheering

lungs bursting with April’s chill

to the dam

where I lost,

seized by a current

that was just too strong

swept away

finally coming to rest

in a guiltless pool below

near the meadow

where you plucked leaves from my hair

and told me

how sorry you were.

creek

Space

It’s 2:39 and I can’t go to sleep

There’s too much space.

How can someone so big be so small?

Balanced, hugging the pillow

You make eye contact with the wall

While I count each turn of the ceiling fan.

The space between us holds so much

We sleep wounded and wake up afraid

Share morning coffee and a kiss

With a good-bye and I-love-you.

We survive our day dreading our night

To lay in silence once more

Connecting with walls and ceiling fans

With too much space between us.

It’s 2:39 and I can’t go to sleep

Because of all that space.

Heaven

Daily Prompt:   National Poetry Writing Month is nearly at at end. To celebrate it, try your hand at some verse.

 

 

For your sake I hope it’s always 6 a.m. in Heaven

so you can walk the marina at dawn when the only sound is the

Clink!

Clank!

Of ropes against the masts

while waves tickle the tummies of sailboats

snoozing in their slips.

Maybe it’s always sunset

so you can sit on a porch and catch every glimmer

of the sun on the Lake

as a million fiery diamonds drown just for you.

Heaven should be warm because you loved sunshine

especially in the fall

with leaves crunching underfoot

while you whistled through acorn-caps

like you taught me to do.

I hope angels have a sense of humor

so someone can laugh with you.

What good is eternity if nobody laughs?