Sasha LaPointe-Poetry
Goodnight Ophelia
This is not a bathtub it’s a river
know for a moment I could breathe
beneath water the little plastic bottles
are orange flower petals
and I folded a dozen paper boats
to help me find my way
when you begin to grieve
on the black and white tiled floor
for the body lost and floating there
know that scales formed
skin between toes webbed
and I could sing
trust that I found the voice
buried in the deep belly
let it float up soft
pink pockets of throat and
splinter like poison
remember the piles of mermaids:
plastic, candy colored hair
lips frozen into hard pink smiles
know that I will open my eyes and mouth
to the sweeping fleet of paper boats
Smashbox
first a swallow of wine
before finding a place for everything
here where nothing is permanent
but removable
the light that spills
in and wrecks mornings
the black etched calligraphy of mascara
as it turns your cheeks into letters
and it isn’t cheerful enough
for champagne
but we’ll open it anyway
and when I throw the bottle away
I’ll find the palate of pressed powder
the squares of sugar spun of stone of taupe
and all the pale shades of pink
to be opened like a library book
of glitter and bronze and gold
as temporary as a line
left by the weight of a pillow.
To Persephone from her lover
Thank you for the postcard,
though it hardly seems believable
a beach in hell
sand burning your delicate toes
I heard the clicking of ravens overhead
and for a moment, felt sorry for you
there are no birds in the underworld
no sunlight or breeze
and I shudder at thoughts
of your skin dry and cracking
your face, at this moment
is it covered by Hades
here clusters of black jagged rocks
dark stones slipping against skin slithery
as I sit night after night
a million stars crashing down on me
feathers lent flight as I searched for you
blew away in salt-thick wind rushes
I never meant to find you
looking was a lie
We all knew where you were, though only few dared to admit
your naked legs in ashen earth no roots
binding you there, no rope or thorn bushes
your breath coming out in clouds of dust
as you moan beneath him
In the dark
you grow bored, wander
lonely corridors and caves lead you here
running slender fingers along
wet walls feeling your way
you slink along the beach like it’s nothing
wading out into the tide
squinting in forgotten daylight
shielding your eyes
the empty cluster of rocks is all you found
black bubbles burst at the surface
as I watched and waited, the barnacles of my breasts heaving upward
as I tried not to make a sound
you disappeared again, in the shadow of an old black Camero
I could see lips lit by a cigarette
glowing orange at the tip
black sunglasses reflecting the ocean
a cloud of smoke and sand
and you were gone again
my body stretched out and lonely
my hands slip over myself, the scales and the algae
as I try not to think of you
sun bleached bone
pounded to white sands by the grinding tide
is a pale hot death all around me
warming my skin
the wooden boats come crashing
the sailors and their captains fall
and all of it
is for you.
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