Rachel Goldstein

These hands, this cup of fortune, it has captivated my voice.
I take a step, stand back.
My stolid form favors this spot.

To be as young as the blood
that flows through my heart,
is to grasp that every day
is its own dream.

Your skin is sweet and luscious.
It draws my aged hands to its warm, velvety surface.
I want to dig my nails in hard,
and dangle,
as if to adorn your body.

My body must stay artless.
It is a simple operation of blood and water.
These bare bones are connected by the fluid
of knowledge,
force, and
spirit.

May 25, 1995

 

The heat drips,
lush, fluid droplets of insomniatic dreams.
The rock underneath holds these dreams…
tightly.

Ah, relief in the form of a dry delicate kiss.
Bring forth the affected heart;
it pounds as though it has never been fed.

I have been accustomed-
did you think I was not here?
I have been accustomed to your long, exacting words
and I welcome them in my space.

The air out there is heated,
It doesn't bother me anymore.
Your voice can soothe any unwanted bruise.

I have been told that the only dreams
I'll have forever are my own.
But let me marry yours.

In the end, in this honest heat -
I can see in your humid stare
that nothing will be given to me
and of all the dreams that exist,
mine will come true.

June 8, 1995

 

 

The branches coil themselves around the wind
and victoriously raise their hands towards god.
It is a warm day, and the gusts transform
back into breezes and settle into the abiding earth.

I feel a twinge of adolescence whisper in my ear,
I yearn to reach forth and grasp
the rugged wooden limbs and spread
my body wide across the atmosphere.

Down below, the soil holds tight and my eyes
are astounded to see roots growing over my ankles.
I reach high, calling to the wind to carry me
above it all, but the earth calls me back -
cracks open my surface and the blood soils my skin.

The thick, dark fluid darkens and forms a crust,
my skin is light no more. Nor is it alive.
My petrified legs belong to the silt
as the rest of my body soon will too.
My arms, still free and vital, sway back and forth
striving to break apart and carry my soul into the sky.

Here I stand,
coiled around the wind with hands turned upwards,
my arms having succumbed,
a sacrifice to god.

May 18, 1995

 

 

In this house
I am binded to the walls
by an unseen chain;
links of blood fastened
arm to arm, elbow to elbow.

There is a window above my head.
I feel the wind around my neck
forcing the tiny hairs into chaos.
I stretch my weary bones to
extend my vision
but all I can see is the dust
that has settled on the sill.

I want to fold these bones
and lay them down to rest
but I can't seem to undo
these shackles.
I won't sleep as I stand.
My feet can not hold
the weight on my soul.

So when you come to set me free,
be sure to bring something to
clip this chain of blood
and a box to carry the remnants
of my disappointed heart.

June 6, 1995

 

 

My dreams lay floating above my head,
dispersed in a cloud of multi-dimensional
intentions.

If I turn my head, your dry soft lips just
barely brush my own. I want to lay my moist lips
upon yours and give you the juices that my body holds.

As I tilt my head, the cloud floats higher.
I squint my eyes just to see.
It floats away with every droplet
that enters your mouth.

Soon, I am dry and you blossom with my dreams.

July 11, 1995

 

 

Dark circles of despair
that glare.

It is a mirror. It is a reflection.
It is worthless to try to see through.

They shut and my heart stops.
For one split second I do not breathe
when he blinks. And when the reopen,
I am born again.

May 4, 1995

 

To read comments about these poems

To comment on any of the poetry   To submit poetry to this site

To find out more about a poet

Please respect the work of others.