Poetry by Rene Simon

                 hnt6581 CC



indelible

my heart has
   wound down slow these days
      like an old wrist watch
skips metaphorical measures
   when i think of that night

how i kissed your spittle-flecked lips
between compressions
     come back to me
      1  - 2  - 3
     come back to me
       1  - 2  - 3
vermilion teardrops drying on your cheek

i
could
not
save
you

once you were breath bone cartilage
you would think your ephemeral ghost would be weightless
      but i am so heavy with you

weeks after,
i found myself guiltily peering through
   your journal, sketchbooks
posthumous voyeur of your life's doodles
found the butterfly you drew
      symbol of your recovery
      swirled and labyrinthine

page in hand i trudged to the tattoo parlor
barely managing to whisper
      "over my heart"
your blood into ink onto bone
      needles stinging like recriminations

i imagine her wings batting, lifting off
riding my night sighs to find you
returning to me moistened with your kisses wielded
                     like armor against another day
                     without you

​



​wind
(dedicated to all those lost to the drug epidemic)

gusting in as furiously
            as her mother’s anger
the blackberry clouds
            sending branches
flinging like air-born
            battering rams
pricking her bare arms
            like premonition
as she crosses the street,
            ducks into the half-hanging door
of the warehouse with
            it’s cracked, bucktoothed façade
smirking as it swallows her.

Inside, she performs
        the ablutions
fire, spoon, cotton,
        lightning licking the wall
in stop-motion intervals
        illuminating her laddered spine,
the clockwork motions,
        anticipation slightly wobbling
the orange capped
        syringe in her hands
up until the moment
        the lightning ceases
a crack of thunder snapping
         as she plunges down
                              and down

It takes only seconds
         for the brain to slow the breathing,
for the heart to skip
         a beat, a beat, a beat
for froth to appear
        at the corner of a slackening lip
for a flame
to blow out
in the wind

Rene Simon is a 48-year-old artist and writer of African, Native, and European-American descent.  She has battled mental health, addiction, and trauma issues throughout her life, and now works as a Certified Peer Specialist, supporting others on the same journey.  She has been writing poetry since teenage angst first hit at age eleven, but sincerely hopes it has improved with age.  She loves the expansive capacity of words, from the hunt for specificity of language, to the opportunity to evoke visceral responses in an audience and aspires to transport the reader into a crystallized moment in time or state of emotion that can be felt beyond the words.  She has been published in journals such as Terra Preta Review and The Green Light Literary Journal.  She is currently living in Madison, WI with her partner, teenage daughter, and four unruly little dogs.  You can see more of her work at https://rene-simon.squarespace.com.