She Fixed Me

with morphine sweeter than the desert.  Rainfall

[and the snake] silently assumed I would sleep

through morning, but it didn’t work out that way.

It was ridiculously hot inside.

Perhaps the partial psychological stress of sleeping in

unbreathing skin revolted the night. . .

I dreamed of concentration camps --

human ovens with matchstick hunger –

transforming into something . . .

Too thin to be human, their eyes bulged

and accused:  Everything burns; the flame

is but a crucible.  (It was the same phrase

I’d heard in my nightmare about the skeleton

going up in shrouded flame.)

[Hand]Standing To Be (Delivered?)

for Ben Johnson

The urge to master stone broke the chaos

of my mind’s statu[r]e.  I searched for any crack

that might be construed as a hold,

but the surface was too smooth (or I was),

and we slipped against each other

‘s grip at every angle.

I turned quickly to scatter

the remnants of my triumphant idea to the wind,

but the tale was tricky and hinged itself

on a blind[ing] blue maw-mouthed monster:

an anchor.  I accepted

this diminuated challenge as a renewed house

of launch:

                        Strike one:  Crash!

                        Swing two – an “ish” miss.

I regrouped for the third ballast.  I would not fall out!

A focus force locked.  My muscles’ memory st[r]uck . . .

A flash moment’s capture of matriculated success

heralded my feet a moment longer to the wind.

A change of plans that settled the upset,

as upside-down, the stone’s persistent ring continued

its haunting back in my view.

Running Water through Sound Waves

My mind begins to separate like sand. 

The water becomes hands, shapes my imagination

into textbook molds.  My thoughts grow towers,

dig moats, raise gates against the outside. 

Even wind cannot trespass my new fortitude.

For 11 hours I am queen of this depravation chamber.

Once  moon replaces sun, magic loses tangibility,

and an eruption of thunderous crushing comes

to topple metaphorical front

door.  I turn to statue, immobilized against this

onslaught.  I can only watch as my comforting dream

dissolves, devoured by midnight’s tide.

I Am Eve

First woman in your world,

part of your bones.  Removed,

I blossomed, a flower in the jungle

of your mind.  You wanted me

to be second, subservient.  I had

other plans, skipped dinner, brought you

dessert.  Instinctively, I knew apple

was your favorite, but

the bite came when you recognized

its understated hints of venom.  Too late.

A.J. Huffman