Blue Cup With Yellow Stars
© Surazeus
2018 11 27
Tara walks through every room in the house,
searching for the blue cup with yellow stars
in the bottom from which she likes to drink
fresh milk in the morning with buttered toast.
Her mother knitting by the fireside sighs,
"My dear, you never had some cup with stars.
I think you read about it in some story
about some young girl at some haunted house.
Come sit beside me and drink some sweet tea."
Tara stares at empty spot in the cupboard,
and touches bare circle in film of dust.
Hearing terrible scream of shock and pain,
Tara sees her mother flat on the floor
with both knitting needles stabbing her eyes
and blood gushing from her wide open mouth,
so she looks at the painting on the wall
showing large mansion nestled among hills,
and imagines herself on river shore
enjoying afternoon picnic with her boyfriend.
Her mother knitting by the fireside sighs,
"My dear, must you mumble to yourself so?
I wonder, what can Joshua see in you?"
Smiling flustered and caressing loose curls,
Tara breathes deeply scent of Autumn leaves
pungent after morning rain among trees,
and walks importantly to the book shelf
to scan titles of old books in gilded letters.
Joshua understands me like no one else,
and always seems to speak my secret thoughts,
as if he knows every desire I hide,
but you, mother, see only my blank face,
and not bottomless abyss of despair
that gapes from sharp-toothed jaws of my small heart
so you never say anything relevant.
"Dear mother, I appreciate your concern."
Joshua knows my soul like no one else can.
"If Joshua calls I will be in my room."
Tara tries to walk over burning coals
as her toes curl roots down into hard rocks,
fragile butterfly who seeks to escape
confusing maze of moonlit photographs,
by fluttering against taut expensive net
of unspoken words that mock her with hate,
then wills she step through thick invisible
to touch each book that feels like human skin.
"If Joshua calls I will be in my room."
Lying down on her bed, Tara stares puzzled
at dark wood ceiling, and tries to remember
how she walked up narrow stairs to her room.
He sits on the chair at her writing desk
and longs to kiss her lips with tender hope
so she savors feeling of his desire
and turns her head to reach out wanting arm
to beckon him, but no one in the chair
smiles through shadow of soft slanting sun beams.
Lemon cake on the picnic blanket glows
warm as sunlight on grass where ladybugs
contain infinite night under frail wings.
Joshua sits so close to her on the shore
of the river that knows this startling ache.
"Yesterday, refugees from civil wars,
caused by our government, arrived at wall
enclosing our country in hateful fear,
so we fired tear gas at women and children
who choked and wept in terror of great truth."
Tara wonders what happened to the cup
painted dark blue with twelve bright yellow stars.
The painting of the woman on the wall
folds itself into origami swan
who flies over field where refugees
run from blue smoke and kneel on river shore
to wash blind terror from their stinging eyes.
Tara gasps for breath, and clutches her throat,
and terrible pain stings her eyes, and stench
of burning smoke rasps her lungs with harsh hope
for faith fake as plastic Halloween mask.
When I was nine, ten years ago, I wore
mask of Hillary Clinton when I went
trick-or-treating with my friends after school.
Clutching hand of her mother, Tara runs
glistening sand of the river shore to flee
tear gas that burns her eyes with naked truth
through blinding of unbearable reality
to wash her face in the muddy Grand River.
Tara drinks milk from the little blue cup,
then pauses and counts all the yellow stars.
She tells everyone at the breakfast table,
"There are twelve stars in my little blue cup.
Each star represents one Zodiac sign.
I was born on cusp of Virgo and Libra
so Liberty holding the Scales of Justice
is the spirit that determines my fate."
Tara looks up at red eel on the ceiling
that writhes, dripping tears on her fragile face.
I can feel every little thing that happens
all over this house because I was born
dark Autumn night during wild thunderstorm
so my mother was stuck here in this house.
I am the breathing spirit of this house.
"Joshua, I want to live in this old house
when we are married, and raise our three children
in the same pretty yard where I grew up
so I can teach them secrets of the world."
Gazing at photo of Joshua, she smiles,
and stares at the strange features of his face
so long his soul dissolves into blank haze.
"We transform the ancestor of our tribe
into luminous cloud of divine God
so we forget all gods were once human beings."
Joshua shows her painting of Zeus and Jesus
sitting together at Paris cafe table
to play chess over the souls of mankind.
Tara touches his beard with gentle hand.
"I just realized how much you look like Jesus."
Looking behind every book on the shelves
for blue cup with yellow stars, Tara jumps,
startled when her mother calls out her name.
"Father of Joshua is calling for you."
Blood seeps from leather cover of the book
to flood the world with anguish of desire.
Tara holds the telephone to her ear.
"Joshua was attacked at the city park
where gay men gather in the evening dusk
and died on the way to the hospital."
Cloaked in thick wool coat against freezing wind
that swirls snow flakes around her long gold curls,
Tara stands in the city park at spot
where Joshua was beaten by seven men.
Blue and yellow shards gleam by the tree root,
so she kneels and finds the blue cup with stars
shattered in fragments sharp as teeth of wolves.
© Surazeus
2018 11 27
Tara walks through every room in the house,
searching for the blue cup with yellow stars
in the bottom from which she likes to drink
fresh milk in the morning with buttered toast.
Her mother knitting by the fireside sighs,
"My dear, you never had some cup with stars.
I think you read about it in some story
about some young girl at some haunted house.
Come sit beside me and drink some sweet tea."
Tara stares at empty spot in the cupboard,
and touches bare circle in film of dust.
Hearing terrible scream of shock and pain,
Tara sees her mother flat on the floor
with both knitting needles stabbing her eyes
and blood gushing from her wide open mouth,
so she looks at the painting on the wall
showing large mansion nestled among hills,
and imagines herself on river shore
enjoying afternoon picnic with her boyfriend.
Her mother knitting by the fireside sighs,
"My dear, must you mumble to yourself so?
I wonder, what can Joshua see in you?"
Smiling flustered and caressing loose curls,
Tara breathes deeply scent of Autumn leaves
pungent after morning rain among trees,
and walks importantly to the book shelf
to scan titles of old books in gilded letters.
Joshua understands me like no one else,
and always seems to speak my secret thoughts,
as if he knows every desire I hide,
but you, mother, see only my blank face,
and not bottomless abyss of despair
that gapes from sharp-toothed jaws of my small heart
so you never say anything relevant.
"Dear mother, I appreciate your concern."
Joshua knows my soul like no one else can.
"If Joshua calls I will be in my room."
Tara tries to walk over burning coals
as her toes curl roots down into hard rocks,
fragile butterfly who seeks to escape
confusing maze of moonlit photographs,
by fluttering against taut expensive net
of unspoken words that mock her with hate,
then wills she step through thick invisible
to touch each book that feels like human skin.
"If Joshua calls I will be in my room."
Lying down on her bed, Tara stares puzzled
at dark wood ceiling, and tries to remember
how she walked up narrow stairs to her room.
He sits on the chair at her writing desk
and longs to kiss her lips with tender hope
so she savors feeling of his desire
and turns her head to reach out wanting arm
to beckon him, but no one in the chair
smiles through shadow of soft slanting sun beams.
Lemon cake on the picnic blanket glows
warm as sunlight on grass where ladybugs
contain infinite night under frail wings.
Joshua sits so close to her on the shore
of the river that knows this startling ache.
"Yesterday, refugees from civil wars,
caused by our government, arrived at wall
enclosing our country in hateful fear,
so we fired tear gas at women and children
who choked and wept in terror of great truth."
Tara wonders what happened to the cup
painted dark blue with twelve bright yellow stars.
The painting of the woman on the wall
folds itself into origami swan
who flies over field where refugees
run from blue smoke and kneel on river shore
to wash blind terror from their stinging eyes.
Tara gasps for breath, and clutches her throat,
and terrible pain stings her eyes, and stench
of burning smoke rasps her lungs with harsh hope
for faith fake as plastic Halloween mask.
When I was nine, ten years ago, I wore
mask of Hillary Clinton when I went
trick-or-treating with my friends after school.
Clutching hand of her mother, Tara runs
glistening sand of the river shore to flee
tear gas that burns her eyes with naked truth
through blinding of unbearable reality
to wash her face in the muddy Grand River.
Tara drinks milk from the little blue cup,
then pauses and counts all the yellow stars.
She tells everyone at the breakfast table,
"There are twelve stars in my little blue cup.
Each star represents one Zodiac sign.
I was born on cusp of Virgo and Libra
so Liberty holding the Scales of Justice
is the spirit that determines my fate."
Tara looks up at red eel on the ceiling
that writhes, dripping tears on her fragile face.
I can feel every little thing that happens
all over this house because I was born
dark Autumn night during wild thunderstorm
so my mother was stuck here in this house.
I am the breathing spirit of this house.
"Joshua, I want to live in this old house
when we are married, and raise our three children
in the same pretty yard where I grew up
so I can teach them secrets of the world."
Gazing at photo of Joshua, she smiles,
and stares at the strange features of his face
so long his soul dissolves into blank haze.
"We transform the ancestor of our tribe
into luminous cloud of divine God
so we forget all gods were once human beings."
Joshua shows her painting of Zeus and Jesus
sitting together at Paris cafe table
to play chess over the souls of mankind.
Tara touches his beard with gentle hand.
"I just realized how much you look like Jesus."
Looking behind every book on the shelves
for blue cup with yellow stars, Tara jumps,
startled when her mother calls out her name.
"Father of Joshua is calling for you."
Blood seeps from leather cover of the book
to flood the world with anguish of desire.
Tara holds the telephone to her ear.
"Joshua was attacked at the city park
where gay men gather in the evening dusk
and died on the way to the hospital."
Cloaked in thick wool coat against freezing wind
that swirls snow flakes around her long gold curls,
Tara stands in the city park at spot
where Joshua was beaten by seven men.
Blue and yellow shards gleam by the tree root,
so she kneels and finds the blue cup with stars
shattered in fragments sharp as teeth of wolves.
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