Tina Jordan

Wraith

I rang his number
at 10:24 on Tuesday night

the deafening silence
that answered
brought me to
my knees

a certainty that it was
something I said
began to overflow
and the tears burned
like a caustic rain

washing away
all but the ghost
 
of me
 

Indomitable

were I to eclipse
my endearment
for you

would you

release me
from your
shadow?

crown me
Queen of
the Lost Cause?

send me
on my way?
or

would you pause
finding something
amiss?

strength enough
to forsake
my yearning
I have not

could it be

that you

are the beginning
and the end

of this

chaotic heart?

War

The hounds have returned from their hunt
Without their master,
Ragged and with their senses
Slightly askew.

His supper is cold and likely as stale
As the dread mounting in my gut.
The echo of empty promises

Takes an aggressive stance
Against my inclination to forgive and forget.

I carry not the patience for a rematch.

My instinct chimes in, and I know
With some degree of certainty
His whereabouts.

I crave not the taste of
My own blood tonight.

The decision to run and never
Look back weighs upon my
Thoughts.

I’d be much the better for it.
Before I can don my cloak,
The insurgent buried deep
Inside me demands
An audience
With my hackneyed excuses.

With care, I soothe
My fears into a state
Of obscurity.
  
Cogadh.

I feel almost arrogant
Asking for Divine protection,
Knowing full well my intention.

My pulse accelerates with the
Blood of the ancients.

Dagger cleverly concealed,
I await his steely embrace.

For the first time
In a long time,
I will not lower my eyes
In deference tonight.

Open Water

the motion
of waves
within my heart
longs for a voice
of its own
 
I harbor the
rebellious movement
in isolation
fearing reproach
 
my wounds
well salted
dare not bleed
with you so near
 
I cannot read
the stars in your eyes
tonight
 
turning my back
to the fair-weather
winds
I await the tide’s
resurgence
 
unmoored
 
precarious
 
adrift
 
unable to admit
how I sorely
I am in need
of rescue
 

Revenant

The night air is heavy with moisture
Weighing down upon me, offering
A temporary diversion from these thoughts
That have shamelessly denied me
My desire to sleep.

My restlessness proves to be
A most uneasy companion as we
Walk hand in hand,
Nervously scanning the street ahead.

It appears to be abandoned
And almost as lonely
As what remains in the shell
Of my heart.

The street lamps mock me,
Feigning an effort to guide me
Further into the unknown
And closer to the forbidden
Side of town.

I have nothing left to offer.

The assumption that declaring
My truth would distill my soul
Had proven to be fallaciousness.

Replete with self induced sorrow,
I continue my stride towards something
Yet unknown and unnameable,
Pausing only briefly to salute
The smell of the ocean with a
Salty refugee flown free
From my left eye.

Wiping away the bitter sting,
I wonder if my vision deceives.
I see it once more.

A blur of movement near the
Entrance to the docks affects
A chilling of the essence
Running through my veins.

I can feel him,
Though I know not his name.

I haven’t the will to contradict
My fatigued curiosity and even less
The inclination to return home.

With the certainty that he read my thoughts
Long before my arrival,
I brace myself,
Settling into an uncanny comfort
As I acquiesce.

Perhaps I never really knew
What I wanted.

Past the iciness of his hands
On my shoulders, I feel life,
Albeit in terms that I have never
Fully appraised.

What of rumors and warnings?

I turn to face him, and though the
Wind has faded into naught,
I am swayed.

Portrait of Lisette

She perches
near the west-facing window each evening
 
inviting the warmth of fiery fingers to burn
an image of a thousand dusks
into her unseeing eyes,
 
invoking an orchestra of tender ocean waves
to paint the most splendid of sunsets
in her sky of darkness.