I Stepped on your Feet and you Called me your Favorite Dancer

Everything pivotal no matter what
the eyes see so much pointillism,
but our story is destined for facets.
I’m ready to have the fairytale
altered, we are as good as the golden spike,
and maybe we were the first tenement
and the first slum, but when your mouth met mine
it was vitruvian, we leveled
the place. I created us in large part—
a lithograph that was rubbed and rubbed
not useable until the cliff hanger,
though we had our moments—Reclining
nudes—our faces full of primitivism



The tracks curve here, your eyebrows raise your naked
face like the biting of  New York cold. Come on!
I say, there’s nothing to hide let’s strip, tease,

let’s turn things not completely around, let’s
accept things at a slant, just so, like the hat
on your head, one ear out, part of you would

want, part of you not, that’s the kind of fight.
We could live together next to the railroad
tracks, the 2:03  passing through, as our limbs

make snow angels while we sleep carrying forth
the daytime argument. We would finally
have something to blame for the blue hue

of our disagreements—Come on Baby—
rattle the change in  your pocket, I know you like
to hang out with sharp rocks. All I’m asking is

can I please get inside there. I’ve put on
my ruffle-bottomed swimsuit: proof that I am
a fine diver. Your lips are always parted

and I think that somehow I might someday
get an invitation to enter into
your rusted old ways, that dilapidated building

that I have sworn has an old fashioned meaning,
that brackish water—there at the center
of it all. I want to dip my toe in

to wade, the water licking ankle and up
my calf, to the tickle back part of the knee.
I want to make wet hair, make it

stick to skin, perfect doll curls in honor
of the death of diversions. The pool, too much
to get over, once you’ve been in, you’ll want

in it again, and again. Listen—I’m an old girl
but I can still do the doggie paddle, no longer fixed
on the future. Who cares about the shore?

Come on—The steam is coming off the tracks;
it’s time to let it blow, time to let that engine go.

One Response to “MK CHAVEZ”

  1. a pair of clattering & unlucky stumbling dice with blinking snake eyes gazing unfazed as your visage fries –mustering all the free strength I can afford & I’m confounding

    the heartbeat p-p-p-pounding as I drag myself toward a painful suggestion, a recurring insistence of a lamenting chortle; a tumbling chord;

    feelings layered upon feelings while silently screaming,

    (Why me?) “Oh Lord”


    once again mk does wonders with words that shape emotions, leading the reader up olympian peaks and then down to fleshed out valleys. AND as always emptiness is emboldened by her words
    and realized by the strength of the bottom-line tally. 😉

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