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Hanging Upside Down Under the Eaves
Tis summer
and I wilt,
wilt,
wilt,
droop, bake—it’s all the same
shade
of yellow. Parch,
parched,
parchment. Arid, oven-dry
redundancy.
Hate it.
Abhor it.
Loath it.
I wear your summer and war
minute-by-minute,
second-by-second
to strip away its damp clinging shroud.
Noise!
Tinny, the sounds of three-quarter year.
Children, multitudes of children shriek
their short-lived, home-at-dark freedom.
In their pleas for lemonade and gushing sprinklers
I hear the menacing caw of the Crow.
Harsh, harsh and ugly. Bells—
whiny, miserly bleats
from ice cream trucks, and whistles…
bells and whistles, bells and whistles and shrieks
pierce the eardrums until I hide
my pounding head ‘neath
heaps of dark swathing. Black,
black and cool, black and cool and
the road
beckons under first-quarter moon.
The moon speaks, the moon sings:
Travel west to October.
October is slumber, October is wings.
Give flight, o’ tenth-month
and I will follow October
‘round and ‘round again
seeking answers
to my birth and medical conditions.
Usher was my father’s name,
my mother’s
Nevermore.
Currently the Poet Laureate of New Bedford, Massachusetts, Patricia Gomes is the creator of the Octologue, an 8-line syllabic form of poetry. She has been published in countless literary journals and anthologies, both in print and electronically. An award winning poet and author, Ms. Gomes is the author of four chapbooks. Performing her work extensively throughout the New England area, she also conducts workshops for adults, students, and children.
lovely!