Roaming Mother

Cadbury eggs, chocolate with a creamy sugar
center.
Her yolk opens and runs to
Each side, pouring over
And over and
This is how we cannot
Imagine our mother, a woman
Needing to break open that protective shell
Giving herself up to gravity, that primal pull.

We cannot notion her in the bathtub
rubbing her hands
Holistically, on that center of woman
Over and over she
Roams over to that desolate need,
Etches her foot in water.

by E. M. Soos

Button

I watched as your thick fingers fumbled
with borrowed needle and thread. The button
was falling off your favorite DKNY shorts.
Determined to take care of it once and for all,
you sat on the bathroom floor with my sewing kit.
Unseasoned, you did not loop the thread; instead
you hand knotted the thread to the eye of the needle.
Brushing my teeth, I stopped myself from correcting,
watched from the mirrored reflection.
I almost laughed at your first couple of frustrated gasps
as needle met skin. The third one, however,
was enough to send those navy shorts flying.

Your shoulders shook violently as you folded in sobs.
I knelt down to hold you. Your head seemed small
in my hands - boyish - unlikely to cause such stress.
I sifted my fingers through your black threads,
willing the soft ties to sew backward, delicately
stitch up your twisting cavern, close off both ends
and entrances, keep anything else from escaping.
Your crying stopped and you left my side.
All I could do was pick up your shorts and start from scratch.
All I could save was your DKNY button.

by E. M. Soos

Morning Decision

I crawl into
my underwear drawer

A sock astray
silky disarray

Tuesday night's
granny chonies

A collection of sadness
with a random thong

I slip into a favorite
flower thing

An everyday comfort

by E. M. Soos

Approaching Summer

It's not a year for barbecues
rain rusted grill
no one wants to clean.
We'll make our usual instead.

The setting sun stripes
our balcony rails.
Pine needles sleep soundly.

I reminisce of horseshoes,
sand-filled toes,
the play we've set to rest.

It's not the sun-filled days
I long for, sitting here with you;
it's the peaceful thought of knowing
you'll reach another spring.

by E. M. Soos

Beneath the Tangled Fir

Following your cornfield eyes, spins of yarn
gold and green, I sit on pine needles
a sharp sting to your warm touch of tongue.
My skin sears easily. Too cold out
for clothes, let's keep our shoes on.
Give the squirrels something to laugh about.

by E. M. Soos

Morning Blanket, Soft Peach

sweet sauna, foam heat
redwood shower, salt lick
underneath you, sweltering
pulse slam, head first
wet glow, porous breath
follow you, follow me
mountain taste, raven holes
fisted grab, honeysuckle
lemon twist, tequila swarm
slide rush, skipping knees
exiting, entering
finger tongue, masquerade
hammer grind, butter melt
belly up, belly down
somersault, rope tie
cellular, spinning
muscle tight, loose skin
fire rush, smooth spasm
rolling over, swallow deep
bitter grass, dark earth.

by E. M. Soos