The Sunrise on Fifth Street
For M.

I open my eyes. Laying still,
I stare at the gauzy, delicate white curtains
illuminated by the morning sun.
The clock on the bedside table ticks faintly.

Unhurried, my eyes wander about the room.
The Christmas cactus on a stool in the corner
is blooming, brilliant red blossoms drip
from the many splayed jade-green stems.
A Diego Rivera painting hangs on the wall:
a dark-haired girl in a cream colored tunic carries
a cluster of calla lilies.

Outside the window: the faint flutter and
chit-chat of chickadees in the aspens.
They clatter together the leaves on thin white branches.
I smile at them, but they can't see me.

The figure beside me stirs. The heel
of his foot gently kicks at my shin.
I press my breasts to his bare back and he rolls
over, eyes clouded by sleep, struggling
to focus on me in the bright light.

Good morning, he hums. He pulls me toward
him and our knees touch. With his eyes still
closed, he slides his hand out from under the white sheets
to rest it on my cheek. He feels me smile with his palm
and he smiles too.
You were in my dream last night. I feel the crease
deepen between my brows. There was a short pause.
The world was ending.

He opens his eyes and lifts his head from
the pillow, listening. Everyone around me was dying
or crying. Some people were singing and dancing,
Some people were making love. You were
looking for me. We were looking for eachother.

Did I find you? He asks.
I don't think so. I shake my head.
He looks at me and I watch the corners of
his mouth turn downward. Leaning into me on
the mattress, he kisses my forehead.

©BLBruce, 2009.

The Train

This morning the cattails sway
under the weight of red-winged blackbirds
with their sputtering chatter.
Amongst marsh reeds
the subtle croak of toads
echo out and into glassless windows.

And because neither had imagined
the stillness of the barren, deserted railway cars
bordering the old millpond,
their hands slid beneath soft cotton--
soon, two nude figures startle mice
under the floorboards, moisten the dust
on an unforgiving wooden bench.

Beneath cobwebs in the eaves of the cabin
they dress and climb down the ladder
away from the train tracks,
the girl stepping over the detritus of oiled ties and scrap steel
ahead of the boy that looks away,
watching the splash of red and yellow
on the black wings of the birds in the reeds.

©BLBruce, 2009