Mark Price

Secret Name

Alone I stood upon a threshold looking to
somewhere else,
there was a young girl, she stood beside me
taking my hand she asked me to guess
the secret name of her sister.
Out of kindness I asked if it wasn’t:
Jill or Judy or Pam or Beth.
She stared quite seriously and said it was none of those,
I had guessed wrong.
I bent close to hear, she spoke a name
that was like no other,
on hearing it I was thrilled.

I saw a woman who was neither old nor young
walking cautiously through a darkened room
to light a lamp,
she turned towards me, smiled a smile
that held the light of a lamp.
I asked the girl, the other that still
held my hand,
if that was not her sister she smiled that it was.
Holding my gaze with innocence and candor,
“Do you love me?” she asked,
I smiled that I did.

Looking away and looking back again
she was now a full blossomed woman
full lips to kiss and bare arms to entwine me,
a Fragrant flower to press.
Her smile held the light of a lamp.
“Do you love me still,” She asked

“Not love you that I cannot do
though it be a train wreck.”

“Even when I’m vexed and vexing,
my arms crossed, darkly scowling,
frowning down on all of your sex.”
She stamped her foot impatient for my reply.

“I’ll tease and cajole, poking fun until
your smile crinkles to oppose the tension
like the breaking of a glass.
Never sorry will I be.”

The room darkened and she was sick in bed,
her old hand in mine,
thin bones and transparent skin
quaking silently,
her smile came from far away, flickered and went out,
darkness enveloped, in the stillness of a moment
it was all done.

Alone I stood upon a threshold looking to
somewhere else,
now close by me she was all around,
neither old nor young all ages and ageless too.
        “Thy self and Thy sister are the same
the difference being a name”
she smiled that it was so.

I’ll hold my silence
        and not set it down in a word
I’ll not speak her name,
        no pounding in my breast will it release.


© 2009 Mark Price

No Sending Kiss

No sending kiss
no fortune returned,
                a moment lost
no stamping horses
                just empty streets
the neighbors look out their windows,
        my windows are closed drawn blank by day
        swept clean by the wind. And I
moving
        through lonely centers
from out of the day,
out of noise,
the swirl of traffic
                I was called by chance
        to escape through the basement,
                        then the sub basement.
And again out
        to see fields of men and women
        growing ripe in the sun.



© 2009 Mark Price