Four Poems

Marie C Lecrivain

After Marjorie Cameron’s “Black Egg”

In my dream, I held you
between my hands,
a precious potential
encased in an opaque egg,

when I felt the tap tap tap
against the thin shell,
a steady pulse of one
determined to incarnate

and destroy – and then
I tipped my hands forward,
and you fell to the floor
where I heard the

crash, crack, crush
of your bones – and woke
with a smile on my face
and tears in my eyes.

© 2016 marie lecrivain

Trituration

Most aspirants fail at this stage.
First came the violence of birth,
the dichotomous joy of life,
and finally, the winnowing of death.
You’d think we’d be done. But, no,
we all end up in the same place,
in the palm of the Universe
ready to be crushed
and tossed back
among the stars.
What is the secret to be willing,
to welcome the walls as they close in
to pulverize what little remains?
Remember: All of this has happened before,
and will again. It won’t lessen the pain,
but it will put a smile on your face.

© 2015 marie c lecrivain

Natron

She’s a vision of the color spectrum;
albic skin, black hair, pink lips,
gray eyes to die for – and, maybe so.

Beware of where and when you meet her –
basement bars or by the seaside
on a moonlit night. She’s quiet
and quixotic like the tides
that run her blood. One moment
she’s poised to run, the next,
she’s melting in your arms
with an acidic and tender love.
It’s too late. You’re a goner…
And you’ll remember nothing
as you lift your aching head
to dawn’s early light.
You’ll wonder how she escaped,
the only mark of her existence
a gritty crescent of salty crystals
embedded to your lips.

© 2015 marie c lecrivain

​I’ll Have What’s She’s Having

She’s dressed for the Wind
in fickle fanciful draperies
to fuel the finesse
of his invisible fingers

that gently caress
her generous hips,
and tangle her hair
into a memory of knots

that mark the ancient bond
of unspoken desire.
From the shadows

I greedily watch
her head tilt back,
a smile on her lips,
and envy her

abandoned grace.
I wish the elements
would give me
the same time of day,

but I’m too familiar
with my loneliness
to break free and dance.

© 2016 marie c lecrivain

Four Poems