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quill
secretive, locked, forgotten pages of Journal #115:
diagramming emotional depressions; detailing romantic regressions;
sketching Jack Daniel's confessions; dismembering sexual repressions;
exploiting drunken exhibitions; exhuming nudist admissions
disassociating your name with a single consonant initial.
you said as long as your appelation
remained
unmentioned
you'd tight-lip a profession of lunacy
if IT (mine)
or I (yours)
ever fell into judgmental hands.
Writing Together
Nicky Yurcaba and Stan Galloway
You showed me yours. Now I have to show you mine.
The first time is always the hardest:
fumbling through infallible darkness
with nerve-shaken fingers--
Parkinson's, erotically tinged,
the things I always thought securely mine
vulnerable, risked willingly,
removing one clinging layer at a time
revealing a touch of gray,
a splash of blushing,
a single half-murmured promise
wondering if the words are real
real as the skin covering my frame
or elusive as a flash of long johns in the winter.
You made it seem so natural
masking predatorial instinct with love's facade,
costuming pure animalism amid emotional ravaging,
sloughing off clothing like a snakeskin:
You were simply Man.
I don't find it simple or easy
Nicole Yurcaba is a part-time adjunct English instructor, part-time farm hand, and full-time poet. Her poetry, short stories, and photography giving life to the Appalachian heritage have been featured in print and online journals such as Rolling Thunder Quarterly, Decompression, Philomathean, Outrageous Fortune, Bluestone Review, Floyd County Moonshine, Referential Magazine, VoxPoetica, The Literary Underground, and a slew of others.
Email: Nicole Yurcaba
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