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Maura Gage

 

In This Season
         for Billy

In this season he is a fisherman;
in others he hunts duck,
early and cold, the light a veil
lingering over a stretch of land and water.
In this season he brings me laughter,
we play cards all evening,
listen to Tom Petty,
share champagne and poetry.
In this season his charms and kisses
unfold worlds, open up the universe
while all else holds still.
In this season he's radiant as the sun
as we play and joke around.
I touch his shoulder, feel the fire,
admire him-he shimmers in light and shadow.
In this season he lights a cigarette,
moonlight catches in his hair as it pours
through the window, walks across his skin,
sparkles in his eyes. The game ends and he'll get up early,
for in this season he is a fisherman.

 

Flying from Dust

Dust drowns us, chokes us
as we walk sand-road,
shoes sinking into soft shoulders.
Our eyes burn as we try to turn
from passing cars--
rockets shooting
beyond the curve of day.
We are but the seekers of greenery
and water--among those who wish
to survive below the clouds,
to know the rest
after trouble, toil, pain.
We swing our arms fast
to show vultures shadowing above
we do not rest on the brim.
When we reach them,
we rest on cool stones
near Cutter's Creek,
coughing out dust,
separating ourselves from that fate.

 

Vision of You

Running around the corner,
I caught sight of
the lightning-struck tree
near my house;
and through my sweat-covered eyes,
I saw a vision of you
leaning against the jagged trunk
your elbow high on the edge,
your other hand
in your jeans pocket.
You smiled,
your long hair shining,
touching your shoulders.
When I blinked the sweat away,
the image faded,
slowly, like a
ghost might fade.
You're everywhere
and in everything.
Come see me again.

 

Wait Until Dawn

Let me be the dream
won't let you sleep
on moonless nights.
Let me make you smile
while you're breaking
your body at work.
Let me help you
stay strong.

See the sky come evening?
There are magics there
as silver sun slips
behind gray mountains
touching clouds.
Let one touch your shoulders
as stars light the leaves
of swaying branches.

When dawn sweeps across
your window pane,
licking her way into your room,
open your arms
to embrace her,
for she carries a message
you'll be haunted by--
but be happy for.




maura gage

The Louisiana Review

 

     Maura Gage is an Associate Professor of English at Louisiana State University at Eunice. She is also editor of The Louisiana Review. Since 1998, she has lived all over--Pennsylvania, Colorado, Florida, South Carolina and in Louisiana - in a small town just a few exits west of Lafayette. She is a big fan of the-hold.com.

Louisiana Review review w/ michael basinski

 
Creative Writing Poetry Submissions and Paper Proposals
Popular Culture Poetry/Poets
2004 Popular Culture Association Conference


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