legged spider, trying
to find balance in a three
legged world. I teeter on planes
pretending to be flat, knowing
it should not matter. My feet remain
sticky, but my hands are gone.
I am struggling to cling
to memories and mornings.
I watch them slip through the holes
in my makeshift web,
staining the carpet as if they were
Archive for the A. J. Huffman Category
legged spider, trying
Fluttering body of silken white,
in softness I settle against whatever
skin is readily available—
a stark vision of surrender. I have become
anonymous facilitator of motion,
silently absorbing friction
and occasional bodily fluids. I swallow
my fear of dissipation bitterly, even
as it happens. My touch—
unnoticed and unmissed—is nothing
more than a moment of memory’s passing,
a tickling fancy, too easily replaced
the next morning.
We built our moon by hand, out of paper
napkins and twisted match sticks, the cheapest
kindling we could scrape from kitchen drawers.
Then we hung it from a string, from a low-hanging branch,
from a dying tree beyond the barn, and watched
night after night, comparing it to God’s.
Something of ours just never seemed right. The light or the angle
of our eyes, and that last night, I was tired, and
you were angry, and we were both insignificant as always,
staring at our failure swinging in the wind. You swung
out with your fist, and I watched your fire connect,
a spark you later swore came from your watch,
the metal acting like flint. Something caught, grew,
and we sat back, put our feet up, and finally got to see
our tiny world evaporate in a brilliant ball of smoke and flame.
comes alive at sunset, glitters
like blinking neon, creates
a subtle strobing effect. Time stops
to take a breather here, kicks its feet
up, smokes its pipe, reflects
on childhood memories of mason jars,
three holes punched into the lids
in hope of capturing and preserving
the flickering beauty of this dusky world
in the unforgiving light of day.
I am sorry.
That I called you
in my depression.
But a sacrifice was required
to fill the vase.
And, alone, I was too hollow.
I could not hold myself
I needed a solid soul
with a heart still in tact.
To sink me.
Like a stone,
you did not crack.
Through the blue.
Through the bottom.
Of this silence.
Thick and sweet.
You obediently swallowed.
As if you knew,
you were bound
Seeing Through the Eyes of a Butterfly
There is a touch for me.
Behind the thin metal
of your blue mask.
There is a dance.
A flashing circuit
to terminate control.
I can feel it.
Through the velvet wall
of your shoulder
to block my light.
A Barbie Under Glass
You made me beautiful.
A perfect red-lipped Eve.
that I needed you
for anatomical completion.
Your hands turned me.
Stiff and plastic
in the dark.
In a show of respect.
Then you took me.
From your perch.
And dropped me
in a fire-side paradise.
A crystal coffin.
Cold and brittle.
at your touch.