Climb

I climb curtain lengths,
maroon velvet soft. Shades
light, no cracks here. Hiding
nakedness from passing flies.

Reaching (always reaching) for the top
as if that were far enough,
long enough, close enough
to bring a smile to your face.

Still, I climb. One foot always
dangerously perched on the edge,
willing my ankle to twist
so that I'll accidentally fall.

by E. M. Soos

Riverbed

I could point you out on the riverbed
The only rock that hasn't changed
Cold, wet, hard, gray, unmovable.
Unmovable. I drift past you
Reduced to granite, stuck, glued
Wedged. I'll drift as long as I can.

by E. M. Soos

On This Island

He handled it with gloves
Dribbled water down, down.
I could count those drops backwards.
Hesitating, I swallowed the gray pill.
Never did know my life amounted to this much
The size of a raisin. I pull, and pull, and pull.
You will get smaller, carved down
To a pumpkin seed. Dried out
From flesh scooped away.
The gray dissolves in me.
You suck on it greedily.
I am the widow that killed her husband
This black veil won't stay on long.
The gray escapes me slowly
So slowly, an old limping man in disguise.
When he turns the corner, out of sight
He'll have taken you with him
And your hold on me.

by E. M. Soos

We Never Speak of Such Things

He reaches for your frown, tries to kiss
those lips, lime and sauerkraut.
You tug your head away, disgusted
at your own taste. He's still here
gathering shoestring potatoes
all the things you hate to eat.
He presents them to you, golden fried
a masterpiece of oil browned.
You do not politely nibble at the ends
nod your head in false amiability.
You pick them up in handfuls
throw them across the room.
He cut off a piece of his nose
for you, made the bump disappear.
He screwed his marrow on straight
tried to lure you back with skin.
Perhaps every time you look at him
his child is scraped out of you
again.

by E. M. Soos

The Next Morning

Every time I fly I think, this is it. Something's gonna happen and I'm gonna die. Today. And when I finally land, I'm sick of living.

This time is no different. I'm flying towards death. A black flight attendant squeezes my shoulder. Her warm smell of clean vanilla sugar envelopes me, licks my sadness closed. When I smile into her eyes she knows. I don't know how she could, but she must sense it through those perfect red nails.

The moment ended sooner than a moment should. A red-haired man keeps glancing behind his seat, his eyes toward me. I pretend he's eyeing me. His right arm bracing the aisle seat is covered in a beautiful tattoo of reds and greens. I can't make out a shape, but I know it's for me and me alone, like his whole life he was searching for me, searching for the person for whom he'd endured such pain.

I'll never see him again, I know. It's better that way. I don't want to find out he kept looking for his friend behind me. Didn't even know I was there. Two more hours and I'll be there. If the plane starts hurtling down I think I'll run up the aisle and tell the red-haired boy that I'm his red and greens and can he please hold me in his arms forever?

by E. M. Soos

Accept

Friday afternoon, quiet in the office. Enough time to think, to write. My mind drifts in and out of poetry, stops to take my daily pill. Keeps me as sane as the world expects me to be. They say your thyroid is shaped like a butterfly. Funny, mine has wrapped itself in larvae. I ask myself once more, Why do I have this disease? How will my body end?

I stare at the clock on my desk, the secondhand climbs between 30 and 45 and slips back down to 30, still ticking. Up, up, up, up, up, up, up, up, up then down again, perpetually stuck in those fifteen seconds, while the other hands stay true to man's time. I wonder if I can fix it, wobble the battery. Nothing changes. I decide to leave it alone in its imperfection, not ask why or how.

by E. M. Soos

On the Bad Days

On the bad days
I paint my toenails red.
I enjoy the fantasy
(putting on)
My black party dress
(dancing)
On white tables.
My feet won't leave home.

On the bad days
I go to work crying.
Bury my scars in pink paper.
My high-heeled shoes
Sturdiest part about me.

On the bad days
I lay still.
Surround myself with green.
Afraid to stand, feel
Lightheaded
Play dough muscles.

On the bad days
My body feasts.
My heart gives a toast
To my dying bladder.
I grin blue sequins
Dip my eyes in gray.

by E. M. Soos

The End

I feel death's
orange sweet breath
on my face, when
I breath out its
wish, I hope I fall
like a leaf, wither
to the ground, be stirred
up by the passing
cars, flutter back down
to rest, gracefully.

by E. M. Soos

A Blue Window

My those are long fingernails, he said
Plopping my hand on top of his head.
I kinda agree, I laughed with a wink
Dragging his old ass out to the sink.

He closed his eyes as I turned on the water
Amazing how much he looked like his father.
I ran the slimy shampoo into his hair
Grabbed onto a lane that wasn't there.

I rinsed and repeat, dared not to condition
My only rebellion in a world of tradition.
He sighed with a smile and clasped his hands
His legs swung limp, unused rubber bands.

I massaged his scalp for a minute or two
Traced his ear as a lover would do.
Before the moment passed, I memorized his face.
The next time I'd see it, it'd be covered in lace.

by E. M. Soos

Every Morning

My dreams are filled with a face
A man I've laughed with before.
His eyes stuck to his feet.
He won't go down like a rabid dog.

I long to touch his lips like water
Relieve his thirst for something
Anything. Me, maybe.
I watch his hands instead.

I want those fingers, cracked and bleeding
To soak in my lotion heart
Absorb my baby smile
Follow the turns of my trail.

I awake to a moving room.
Nothing slows even as I lay there
A rock in a desert. And I hope
he's cocooned himself in my torrid stomach.

by E. M. Soos