soft
bright
hues
hand
embroidered
tiny
stitches
puckered
shadows
of love
purples blues
pinks goldens
four
seasons
seventy-five
kimonos
a
dream
a
life
a
reality
flaring
when
the wearer turns in
unAsian
haste
western
clothes shriek
from
underneath
modern
loud garish
kimono
from
a time of samurai
and
chivalry
gentility
with a sword
and
seppuku
poetry
and pain
sewn
together in
narrow
bands
simple
elegant
regal
kimono
(previously published, 1996, Arnazella Literary Magazine)
zorro
in the boardroom
you
stare across
the conference table
eons wide within this room
your warm hazel-brown eyes
bespeak a Moor
in your ancestry
i
see harem secrets
you have always known
and never had to learn
languidly you lift your pen
to write slowly
your long
fine
fingers dance a ballet
upon your notepad
in
my minds' eye
i see them curled behind the hilt
of a swift moving rapier
strong
defender of virtue and nobility
unashamed i match your stare
and wonder
if those fine-boned
long and tapered fingers
coax classical notes
from an old and rare
Spanish guitar
if you played those strong
patrician hands upon
my body
how long before it
danced
flamenco passion
can you read the desire
in my return stare
do you know i weaken
at the fantasy
of being impaled upon
your
sword
(previously
published 2010, Issue #10, Origami Condom_
The Healing Hands of Doctor Rhett [hybrid poem/prose poem]
—by Lenora Rain-Lee Good
I just turned 17 when
I started Bible College. Dr. Franklin Rhett, our Pastoral Counselor, stood tall
and ramrod straight, his hair a shock of white atop his tanned and craggy face.
He pierced my soul with eyes the blue of eternal skies, and his voice rumbled
up from the depths of the basement. He told me, and I knew, that
I was a sinner who
needed his healing touch.
Touch me,
Doctor Rhett,
And I shall
be healed,
I cried
aloud,
'Cause I
have the faith!
I told him I needed to
be healed, and he suggested,
his beatific smile showing
his straight white teeth, that I come to his office that very night, after
classes. I asked if he didn’t want to touch me right then, in the chapel, and
he smiled and said, “No. It will be better tonight. When there will be fewer …
distractions and time to allow the Holy Ghost to come upon us in His Fullness
and Glory.” Oh, how I looked forward to being cleansed and healed by his touch!
Oh, Doctor
Rhett,
I silently
begged,
Touch me! Touch
me!
Heal me! Heal
me!
I could
hardly wait
for my
healing.
Outside his office, I
hesitated. I could see no one besides Dr. Rhett was in the room, and we are
taught never, ever, to be alone with a man outside the sacrament of marriage.
But Dr. Rhett, he just smiled, took my hand, and brought me in, closing the
door behind me. "Come," he said. "Let us have a little Holy
Communion, and a Prayer to invite the Lord to heal you with His Loving
Power." He held a glass of red wine to my lips until I drank it all. We
then knelt on the floor next to his large sofa and the Holy Ghost did Come Upon
Us. At least, that's what Dr. Rhett said as he lifted me to the sofa and took
off my blouse. My skirt stayed on the floor.
And Doctor
Rhett,
He touched
me
He touched my lips with his
He soothed my brow
And kissed my eyes
He stroked my neck
He cupped my breast
Sucked my nipple
Rubbed my belly
As I
writhed beneath
His
fingers.
And I knew
he was
Gonna heal
me,
Oh Lordy, yes!
A moan
escaped me
And heat
spread
Throughout
my loins
And, lo! I was healed!
Dr. Rhett says it will
take a long time to completely heal me, to be patient, and to come every
Tuesday after class.
(accepted
for an anthology, not published)
No comments:
Post a Comment