Tracy Lucas


Two Poems (September 21, 2009. Issue 9.)

Finger Trails

The dust pools
on the things we haven't even owned
long enough to touch yet;

Hands on ourselves every night,
and never on anything but emptiness.

As if petting
makes it cleaner,
or more worn.

The house we never live in
is dirty and bare,
even as it sits
too full for comfort.

Loving Darkness

The screen goes dark.

I am not afraid.

I have seen the loving side
of darkness;

I know the velvet smile
before it eats you.

I know the smooth butter smell
of dying without air,

and the stale sound
of coming back to normal.