Spring 2016 (June 1, 2016)

Up winding stairs

May 2, 2016
By Julian Hast

Up winding stairs she found him playing the old piano,
Singing the notes of imaginary numbers
He sung more softly as he saw her
She waited on the stairs, her tongue a funny scramble,
Her throat a dark and laughless tunnel.

She was a whisper, her warm breath close and slither-sweet,
Her hands confounded by their grasp
Grinning fingers ablaze and her eyes all honeydew
Barbed words slipping off her armored laughter
Thoughtless lips who kissed blind the dreamless searchers.

She loved men from Mars whose eyes harbored color
And he was fine with that.
But their honeymoon picnic was tainted with ants,
As machine sickness sanitized her summer daydream,
A reverie of frownless sweaters and far horizons

Whose end she spotted from her sickbed.
She had a sandy beach in mind to see when she would leave,
But doctor doctor wouldn’t let her.
She asks her love to bring her there while light vacates her eyes,
And he laughs as he sees in them the dreams that let her die.