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Smelling Your Laundry
All these things incomplete are perfectly divine
in a way that drives my horns into the ground
surrounding your beautiful waspy face.
I cannot admit
that I cannot admit
loving someone
more than me may
be dangerous.
Maybe love is
smelling your laundry.
Maybe it is the detours and curves
of your shoulder blades and
forearm muscles clasped
over my tiny backbone.
Maybe it is me siphoned completely
out of your close crevices.
These things fasten shutters
flapping open in my eyes
make irises into
daisies over algae ponds.
Your red arteries full
and the blue veins pounding
in your neck, subdue,
sweetly signal my
resignation.
Drinking Problem
I bought a bottle of red wine
because the adult side of me
said: have a glass. Relax.
Lower your cholesterol.
I knew- They knew-
I would drink the whole thing
before daybreak.
Alone inside
the sedan I watched the stark
naked branches sway , blowing you,
I watched a part of me die in unison.
My thrift store shores make
millions of dollars , red sponged
and today
small Easy- things make me laugh.
like benign shells, family photographs and letters
from jail.
Julie Mazza's poetry has appeared in the March 2005 edition of Tryst Magazine, an online
literary magazine and in the February 2007 Issue of Black Book Press. She has been writing since she
was 15 and she also enjoys reading and painting.
Email: Julie Mazza
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