Ozark September

In September, when sunlight
turns from gold to silver
and the faint scent of dry leaves
seeps into the air,
we kayak across the lake again,
as we did last June when tadpoles
began to lose their tails
and honeysuckle smells wafted
along the shore.

Now, even if leaves morph into red,
orange, and yellow, we still rock in waves
warm enough to swim. Still, there’s time.
Our tan biceps glisten in sunlight
as we row steadily over the bay.
I sigh, knowing that even though summer
has crested, winter waits far away
in a cove, where a heron
blossoms into white plumes.

*

Tightrope Walker

I walk without a net.
Julio clipped my hamstrings.
Now below, he tampers with his potatoes,
trains a rubber duck to backstroke in gravy.
The heat of his waves forces me
to breathe heavily—diastolic, systolic gusts
whirl into a microburst 
that sets my ankles trembling
atop this narrow line.

I walk without a net.
Julio lures me with saffron smells
and sweet oblivion. He tries
to seduce me into one misstep
and leaves no peace in any corner,
not even in the sweetest love.
And even if I’ve looked him in the eye
and spat at his cheek,
he always wins.
           
I walk without a net.
Towing this thin line,
my knees wobble, my chest shakes.
No pretty celestial carriage ahead,
just a battle above a frenzied crowd
that whoops and hollers.
Inhale, exhale—and still
this diastolic, systolic breath
won’t calm my mosaic heart.

*

Chinese New Year

Shimmering like cellophane, your eyes
reflect the red lights from the wet streets.
You grab my hand and we step into a dragon
that swishes by rows of shops
selling dried fish the color of straw.
Above curbs, lines of faces blur,
become double-exposed snapshots
as we wind through these streets
black as obsidian.

Suddenly, ahead, fireworks explode,
their sparks raining gold ashes.
Cymbals clash and whistles shriek,
sending echoes of sirens through my brains.
Drums hammer in this year of the snake.
These city blocks refuse to end.
I pull away from this dream
that wraps me in shadows.
Your grip tightens.

 

A Kansas native, Lindsey Martin-Bowen teaches writing (including fiction writing), literature and reporting at the University of Missouri-Kansas City, where she also serves as Writing Assessment Coordinator. She holds a Master of Arts in English/writing and a Juris Doctor. Woodley Press (Washburn University) will release Standing on the Edge of the World, a full-length collection of her poetry in 2008. Her novella Cicada Grove came out in 1992, and chapters of two other novels have appeared in Shorelines and Number One. Her poetry has appeared in New Letters, RockhurstReview, RiverKing, Thorny Locust, I-70 Review, Coal City Review, Black Bear Review, Kansas City Voices , Lip Service, and other literary magazines.