Marchell Dyon

Blue

In the words which I breathe there is longing.
The syntax of sorrow I know too well in my longing.
 
For me, the constellations above hold no tarot, 
Fate changes, a slight of hand, and then there is longing.
 
The clock perched beside my bed, but it doesn’t yet chirp.
What can end this night? I wait for the alarm to sound, longing.
 
All day, Billie Holiday plays in the dreariness of our bedroom,
Her mirthless wise voice echoes my longing.
 
Drawn curtains are a metaphor for not seeing light.
Look! The groundhog has cast a shadow of longing.
 
My face is a rainbow of feeling, but mostly shades of blue.
An emotional merry - go – round often stopped and longing.
 
Your kiss could quench the Mojave Desert thirst.
Open wide receive this mouth so parched, so longing.
 
A cage bird stares through painted bars without a song.
A cat waits in the shadowy distance, longing.
 
You needed to find yourself without strings attached.
I found myself in an empty house, claustrophobic, longing. 

 
© 2013 Marchell Dyon

BIO: Marchell Dyon is from Chicago IL. Her poetry has been published in print and online. Her poetry has won first place in Torrid literature Journal’s annual contest: Romancing the Craft. Her most recent work has appeared in Full of Crow Magazine, Rainbow Rose Ezine, and is forthcoming in Blue Lake Review June issue 2013.

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