Cupid's Cusp by Janet Buck

Featured Writer: Janet Buck

Cupid's Cusp

We plan it without meaning to--
scribble its vows on grocery lists,
then soak in updates of its grief.
Ways love grows,
cusp of cupid, sharp cliche,
numb to minutes, space
and Hell--pythons we've
been courting coyly--
so many years
their rounded vowels
become our tongues.
Royalty checks come back
shredded, ink in blur,
black bruise on gauze.
No accounting for sage
and thyme and tarragon--
its scent draws steam
again, again.
Custard of uterus
determined to be dessert,
no matter who's late for meals,
who doesn't show,
who doesn't hold
the tea cup's loop
quite tenderly.
Straight cracked pepper
in our eyes won't open them.

Ginger Root Not Lavender

When the buzzer of your death
blasted me out of bed,
I sat in that electric shock
of disbelief for days on end.
Wrote nothing of that nothingness
before my eyes, vacuumed
bread crumbs of my tears
until the sack exploded
in the morning light.
Greenery of loving you
was bags of lettuce
full of worms I had to wash.
Collection plates
and choir pews
and all the leather books
you bound had saddle sores
of wishing I could warm
the chill, reverse injustice,
kill its virus, stomp its grapes,
bite its languid, pouting lip.
Pillows on your empty chaise,
a mass of birds
God had taken rifles to.
Paper was a thimble's meat
without a tip.
Your house coats
had that dusty smell
of Sanskrit tomes.
I owed it to your memory
to run the furnace till it cleared.
Pungency of grief revived
is ginger root, not lavender.

Rose Remains

The one thing
painless in my life:
dove quill of your
morning touch.
Its clay spins clocks
from afar;
I concentrate
on what I trust.
All oyster men before
the us turned traitorous
when night approached.
Arrows in heart fist leaving
bruises of pitch too dark
to dent inimical moon.
I clip our shrubs,
pull up weeds,
stare at light
in yellow rose.
Think of how you
tamed a lion's wooly color,
made it softer, palpable.
Three rose trees stand--
empires of
respected vows.
Petals landing on dirt
as lily pads must
float on ponds and gloat
about the swans they know.

Janet Buck, Ph.D. is the author of four collections of poetry. Her work has appeared in CrossConnect, Zang Spur Review, Pif Magazine, The Dakota House Journal, The Melic Review, Stirring, Countless Horizons, Ascent, Tapestry, The Rose & Thorn, Avatar Review, pith, Perihelion, In Motion, OffCourse, and hundreds of journals world-wide. In the year 2000, Janet was of ten U.S. poets to be featured at the "One Heart, One World" Exhibit at the United Nations Exhibit Hall in New York City. Her poem "Acrylic Thighs" was translated into five languages and paired with original artwork. The tour traveled to France, Australia, Vietnam, Brazil, and Japan. In 2001-2002, Buck's poetry is scheduled to appear in PoetryBay, The Montserrat Review, Runes, The Pedestal Magazine, Concrete Wolf, The Carriage House Review, Swagazine, PoetryRepairShop, Slow Trains, Verse Libre Quarterly, Wicked Alice, Facets, Southern Ocean Review, Artemis, The American Muse, and The Pittsburgh Quarterly. Recent awards include The H.G. Wells Award for Literary Excellence, First Place in Kimera's Poetry Contest 2001, Editor's Choice Award for Sol Magazine, and the 2001 Kota Press Anthology Prize. In 2001, Janet's poem "The Teapoy" was nominated for a Pushcart Prize by The Pedestal Magazine. Janet Buck is a three-time Pushcart Nominee and the author of four collections of poetry. Her work has recently appeared in Three Candles, Red River, Pierian Springs, Stirring, PoetryBay, Offcourse, Ascent, The American Muse, and hundreds of journals world-wide. In 2002-2003 Buck's poetry is scheduled to appear in Zuzu's Petals Quarterly, Mississippi Review, Gin Bender, Artemis, The Montserrat Review, Recursive Angel, The Foliate Oak, Southern Ocean Review, The Pedestal Magazine, Coelacanth, Cordite, CrossConnect, and The Oklahoma Review.

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