Summer Block Party
Dusk yawns, dozes on a cloud.
Houses shrink and fade into gray
as a sultry wind skitters free.
Euphoria blows a tune down the street.
Watch with me.
Is that timpani or thunder?
Date palms pitch and sway the backbeat,
showing lots of leg.
In kindled air, jasmine thinks it’s dawn,
time for a spray of perfume.
The giant oak puffs and billows.
Her spiral stems become hands
weighed by opulent rings,
clicking like castanets.
Poplars oscillate, maples jiggle,
and all the trees no one can name
throb and shiver and green the sky
with leaves and limbs.
Dance your desire into my arms.
I promise you the unspent night.
Painted Hope
After Mysterious Dance of Opposites
by Jane Zich
Climbing the last stair, he knocks a riff.
Ribbons encircle her bare ankles.
Four-inch heels, raspberry satin.
In a Ford GT, rocket to 80.
Sink into leather. Don’t look back.
Velvet sashay toward the table,
toes pointed in, five degrees.
He pulls out the curved cherry-wood.
Cabernet engulfs each nub of tongue.
Bomblets of ambrosia.
In gossamer sleeves, arms sweat the beat.
Steaming drums, caramel piano.
Lasers flash. Lips flame.
She shimmies closer. His fingers find her belly.
You, all I ever prayed for.
Let me be enough.
Mylo Schaaf trained as a journalist, editor, and physician, before taking a left turn into poetry. Before everything changed, she was teaching at the University of California, San Francisco, working with students in international, low-resource settings. Then one day, she received a horrific phone call, revealing the loss of her 24-year-old son, a mountaineer/peace-and-conflict scholar/veteran. Poems demanded to be written. They brought healing, as did warm hills, tree spirits, and arms of sky. Years passed. Poems continued emerging, as the knots and riddles of life unraveled themselves. After twelve years, Mylo's new book, Blown Into Now – Poetry for a Journey, has been released. Please visit: https://myloschaaf.com
Dusk yawns, dozes on a cloud.
Houses shrink and fade into gray
as a sultry wind skitters free.
Euphoria blows a tune down the street.
Watch with me.
Is that timpani or thunder?
Date palms pitch and sway the backbeat,
showing lots of leg.
In kindled air, jasmine thinks it’s dawn,
time for a spray of perfume.
The giant oak puffs and billows.
Her spiral stems become hands
weighed by opulent rings,
clicking like castanets.
Poplars oscillate, maples jiggle,
and all the trees no one can name
throb and shiver and green the sky
with leaves and limbs.
Dance your desire into my arms.
I promise you the unspent night.
Painted Hope
After Mysterious Dance of Opposites
by Jane Zich
Climbing the last stair, he knocks a riff.
Ribbons encircle her bare ankles.
Four-inch heels, raspberry satin.
In a Ford GT, rocket to 80.
Sink into leather. Don’t look back.
Velvet sashay toward the table,
toes pointed in, five degrees.
He pulls out the curved cherry-wood.
Cabernet engulfs each nub of tongue.
Bomblets of ambrosia.
In gossamer sleeves, arms sweat the beat.
Steaming drums, caramel piano.
Lasers flash. Lips flame.
She shimmies closer. His fingers find her belly.
You, all I ever prayed for.
Let me be enough.
Mylo Schaaf trained as a journalist, editor, and physician, before taking a left turn into poetry. Before everything changed, she was teaching at the University of California, San Francisco, working with students in international, low-resource settings. Then one day, she received a horrific phone call, revealing the loss of her 24-year-old son, a mountaineer/peace-and-conflict scholar/veteran. Poems demanded to be written. They brought healing, as did warm hills, tree spirits, and arms of sky. Years passed. Poems continued emerging, as the knots and riddles of life unraveled themselves. After twelve years, Mylo's new book, Blown Into Now – Poetry for a Journey, has been released. Please visit: https://myloschaaf.com