Tuesday, January 31, 2012

The Breakup

she wipes flour from her apron
and her heart breaks a bit more
crumbling
with each new batch of cookies
prepped and baked
(No Valentine's Day cookies this year)
With each loaf wrapped

her tears add salt to dough
the flavor of lost love
she wonders what will become of her
as butter folds itself 
into flour
hiding
melting away
until nothing is left to moisten the dough

Icing glides out onto surface
slick and sweet
as she frosts
white hot anger
of betrayal

knives at the ready
she cannot touch 
she fears
like little lives
torn out of a comic book
blades infused with grief
she turns back to flour, sugar, butter
and folds them
over and over again.



copyright/All rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2012


http://dversepoets.com/2011/11/15/open-link-night-week-29/ 






Thursday, January 26, 2012

Lost Hearts





How did it happen,

That I am privy to your heart

But you, not to mine?

The wishing of worlds long asleep

Will not change the damage done.

Sleep, my heart drowning in sorrow,

Like the soft rain

Which rolls in on a misty morning.

Catch my hope

Before it ripens into conscious thought

And furtively deposit seeds of tears

To replenish salted earth.

Scorched heart, you lie still

Heavy with the grief

Of unexpressed love

Which now must hide

Behind shuttered eyes.

My sorrow, unavailing.

You will not change

And I cannot bear it.



Copyright/All rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2012

Monday, January 23, 2012

Low Tide




i stand at low tide, heart receding
my toes squishing gushy sand
tiny skyscrapers rise up and fall
toes press downward
seeking purchase
i look out and fee the mudflats
teaming with the small creatures of life
digging their way deeper
to find a tiny surge of water
the solace of home
a thimbleful of water
so trivial
so significant
my heart lies thirsty
as I dig down further
seeking my own surge.

copyright/All rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2012

Monday, January 9, 2012

Aching

He lay down amidst grasses so tall
they hide his eyes from his soul.
He lay among the ants
captivated by his Herculean hair,
curls creating bridges
oily black and lustrous.
He lay down
his weighted frame
burying tender shoots below.
Aching--
He traced the paths of wren and jay
their cawing jarring muscle from frame.
Aching--
and wondered when the rain
would claim him
the water submerge his heart.
Aching, aching
a
c
h
i
n
g



copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2012 

http://dversepoets.com/2011/11/15/open-link-night-week-27/