the violence of forgetfulness
nature’s fury ripped pages from my story
empty-handed I stand bereft
not knowing who I am
storm clouds gather at my window
I wait for someone
to punch through the vapor
let me peer into yesterday
unheard I scream for recognition
to find me in the forgotten land
lost in the forest of nameless trees
I beg for a hint a star a way-marker
to show me how you wandered
into my life and stayed
stayed without my comprehension
when did my mind dim
my eyes fail to know your face
my fingers lose the feel of your skin
my tongue stop to recognize the taste
of your body
a question of my conception
was it a dark hurried moment
or afternoon
when the sun lit the way
did she undress behind closed doors
or loosen her garters
roll down her stockings
he watching and waiting
did he pull her dress over her head
did she shiver in anticipation
hungry for the mystery
did he hurry his buttons
unzip his pants
unleash his ardor
force the need to deliver his seed
leave her lying alone
confused by the pain
I hope they warmed to each other
in a mist of whispers
hair undone falling to her shoulders
he cupping her gently with open hands
she full of wonder
At fifteen Christa emigrated to the US from Germany, she has lived the Midwest, the South, New England and now resides in Tucson with her husband and dog Whisky. An avid hiker, she contemplates the sweetness and sorrow of life on Arizona’s desert trails, while using poetry to give shape to her thoughts. She thinks of her writing as the footprint of her being, the legacy she leaves.