Poem: Train Rides

strangers on a train
are better off
than two
who constantly share pillow thoughts
but could only meet
at given stations
on certain dates

the rides
are always brief, frenzied and hurried--
a rush hour commute,
with never enough time
to marinate in the melded flavors
of having arrived
at the same destination
together

hours after,
another train ride,
a new pair of strangers
are locked in conversation

we too are trapped
inside misted windows,
our turn to count lamp posts
and wonder how many more
stations, platforms and train rides
loom ahead the likes of us
who weren't blessed to be strangers
on our separate ways home.

steph cruz

Poem: The Candle

Anne Stephanie Cruz
Revision 1

my candle burns at both ends
you say,
primed wick licking
cast paraffin,
tip-to-tip

preventable, yes
but listen:
wax drippings are memories,
not tears--one end passion
the other pain;
a trail of petals shed,
overlapping then melding
into a molten mirror
of itself

it may not last the night,
i know,
its flame is a finger raised to your lips:
hush luv,
candles were made to yield;
its soul is life emptied to create light,
burning bright
before self-extinguishing
at the appointed hour

if, as you tell me,
everything is borrowed time
i should, like the candle,
embrace the inevitable:
yield to that last brush of wind
from your lips,
myself becoming a spent
burnt offering

a candle
unafraid to be consumed
choosing to burn
irreverently for you
than live in a glass case
damp and unlit.

Dominatrix

conducting
a chorus of toads--
in leather and whip

tuesday
8.15.06