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Coffee Memory


The coconut hits the floor and mothers wean babies on spilt milk,
Gods drink cheap wine as they watch Venus decomposing.
She never wanted to dance in her evening wear,
She asked, what will the neighbors say?

The day after, three birds begin to sing by your windows,
They cry on the panes.
You lose your religion,
you drink the potion concocted in her mystery.

She left her longings when she got off the boat,
She left barefooted, her shoes lingering at your door.
In your closet still hangs her favorite coat;
You are searching but can’t find your pride on the floor.

Your urine begins to reek of coffee and antibiotics,
You are drowning, river deep;
You stretch your hand to find your personal Jesus
But she has refused to bear your cross.

The cockroaches make babies in your bed,
Porno movies begin to play in your head.
But you swore, you swore never again
to go skinny-dipping with apparitions.

So you eat green onions,
Put on your blue suede shoes
And dance with yourself.
You get on the street again to stalk shadows.

Two turtle doves lead you,
You follow their trail to where the ashes lie.
The dog with a wet nose
Narrates the tale of how angels die.

You stop by the dockside
awaiting the return of the tides.
Fear is a gondola; you sail away into the stream’s heart,
Hoping this small boat will founder beneath the waves of dreams.

You are washed ashore,
No rest for prophets on the sea bed.
Sometimes moving ahead
Is returning to where you have been before.

You get on the train homeward bound,
That which is not willing to be lost is easily found.
She’s sitting right in front of you,
hair so soft, so succulent, the ferns were nurtured by the dew.

You breathe, buoy your spirit
Perceive the smell; it is her you can tell.
You touch but she can barely feel it,
She’s deep asleep, you can only pray that she hears you weep.


Soonest Nathaniel Scholes

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