Charlotte Hamrick

Summer of Mary

You taught me how

to shave my legs,

the downy almost invisible

blonde strands of silk falling

to the razors swath, the last vestige

of a child's body helpless

against the vanity

of a teenagers critical eye.

But I loved you that summer,

loved your shiny pageboy flip,

your tweezed eyebrows and ice pale

lips. You were sophisticated in a way

I coveted but didn't understand.

 

February 14

I don't need to hear you say “I love you”, I

want to know you do by the look in your eyes,

the touch of your hand, the way you listen when

I talk. I don't need candy, flowers, diamonds or

trips around the world. I only need you to be there

during my darkest hours when I cover my head

and wail like a lost child because life has left me

bereft. I need you by my side when it counts: when

the hurricane is coming, when loved ones die, when

friends desert, when I fall into the biggest, darkest

hole I've ever been in in my life and I push you away

and say I hate you and I hate my life and all other

manner of despicable things. I want to know you

will never, ever leave me.

Balancing Act

Today I suddenly smelled your

scent on the breeze like vapor from the bayou.

I closed my eyes and tried not to breathe

too deeply, instinctively knowing I'd lose it

in the rush of air into my lungs the same way

knew I'd lose you all those years ago

if I loved too deeply.

The tickle of your afternoon beard on my face,

the pearl white buttons nestled in the blue of your shirt,

your tanned hand with a half moon scar warm against

the curve of my waist all came back as if we'd just

parted today, still fresh as new baby skin.

I opened my eyes and the sun had burned off

the vapor and the tickle on my face

was only sweat. Your half moon scar lies

on someone else's waist.

Ice Ballet

At 11:13 pm

and after two vodkas

I'm wanting the night

to last forever,

for this mellow liquid of light

to keep me wrapped up

in cottoned ignorance

gliding along

in an ice ballet, pirouetting

into delicious abandonment.

CP

Charlotte Hamrick’s work has appeared in several literary journals including Literary Orphans, Connotation Press, Blue Fifth Review, and The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature. She lives in New Orleans with her husband and a menagerie of furry children where every single day inspires her creativity. You can find her at zouxzoux.wordpress.com