The Fainting Couch of His Arms


(artist unknown)

By Annette Marie Hyder             

She swooned into the fainting couch of his arms

and held her breath when smelling salts were offered.
No sir, no pungent remedy needed.
She was fine right there.
(NaPoWriMo day 29)

Sunday Things: Persephone


Image courtesy of Poetic Wanderlust

And Birds and Bees
By Annette Marie Hyder

Did you see Persephone come in the night
with her long dark hair floating behind her
like waters unbound
and her ghost-white feet rocking the cradles of roots
with every step she took?

Were you awake this morning when her hair reflected
every color of every flower
like a myriad butterflies
and there were wings, trembling in their newness,
in their eagerness, growing from her ankles just above her feet?

Did you hear the hum of the bees, the twitter of birds
that circled, jewels with beaks and stingers that laced around her neck?
Did you feel your back stretch as if you too had wings to unfurl,
and flowers to wake and words to write
with the sharp edge of a roses’ thorn or the quick dart of bee’s sting?

Capture your colors while you may and run and laugh and sing and play
spring is here and likewise so are you.

(NaPoWriMo day 28)

The moon hung around

By Annette Marie Hyder

outside my window all night
and worse than the brightness
(so I couldn’t sleep)
and worse than the breeze
scented with dew
was the discourteous way
that the moon just kept talking
all night long about you.

(NaPoWriMo day 27)

“On nights like these,” he said

By Annette Marie Hyder

“when raindrops shiver on every tree
when the storm is a veil
covering the face of the sky
and thunder is the low drumbeat
of the heart of the night,
on every night but especially
on nights like these,
I want to pierce your mysteries.”

(NaPoWriMo day 25)

Teacher,

By Annette Marie Hyder

you taught me to bottle my tears,
to make a potion of my desire for you
and decant it into a flask,
to put these things on the farthest dusty shelf
that I would need a ladder for.
You taught me to roll my thoughts of you into cigars
lit, but left unsmoked, their plumes and ashes
allowed to disperse upon the wind — untasted.
First
you taught me to do without you.
Then
you taught me how to forget you,
teacher.
You are a sigil in my mind
of things once remembered clearly
a symbol for something I never lost
because you were never mine.
Teacher, I have learned my lesson
well.

(NaPoWriMo day 24)

Her mind liked to feather dust ideas

By Annette Marie Hyder

then put them neatly back upon the shelf.
She always kept the floor of her subconscious
you-can-eat-off-it spotless clean
and her shiny windows let you see for miles.
But looking through those windows
was discomforting.
For all her miles were empty to the horizon
all fallow fields without one single tree.

(NaPoWriMo day 23)