Enter Home Planet News Poetry of Issue #4                        Page 46
                                   
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THE MAD GIRL REMEMBER WHEN EVERY GHOST STORY WAS A LOVE STORY


A sadness condemned to
repeat itself over and
over. Blue eyes in the
photograph crushed in
a drawer in an abandoned
house, something dead
that seems to have been
alive, loss and pain
suspended in time, a
blurred photograph of
a moth trapped in amber.
Or the mark of his
hand on the gray wood
that no paint covers.
It was like the wine bottle
she threw, always bleeding
thru white paint. Or the
mist hanging in the torn
oak branches behind
the dusty shutters
where she heard
thunder, felt lightning
tear the branches,
felt his body coil into her
skin, a dream she was
sure the next morning like
all she’s lost, her skin
like pale flowers, a
mother who thought
there was nothing
she couldn’t do, a father
who was never there


        lyn lifshin


THE MAD GIRL LONGS FOR DESIRE BUT IS TERRIFIED OF IT

for days in Austin when
her skin felt on fire,
scorch marks from where
his body grazed her
skin. It was one thing to
lure him, flirt outragedly
on paper. 3 AM in the
wet Texas air, her
hair curling like she hated
while he told her how
his mother plunged into
Niagara Falls, told
her what heĠd never
said to anyone. Now she
dreads April with
green coming back, trillium
pushing thru the dead
leaves, thru damage, thru
this deadness she
wanted to take her in
its arms and waltz
her into
oblivion

        lyn lifshin__
DAYS AFTER THE YELLOW BUTTERFLIES

the goose on the nest
same place as last year

the first violets, honey
suckle, crows, a

cinnamon smell near
the olives

red wing black bird

slash of color
in the grey

        lyn lifshin__

Jasminas feather dress woman
©Jasminas feather dress woman by Corina T.v.M.