Tuesday, February 11, 2014

The Ashamed (Poem 316)

How do the feverish ashamed
--cheeks prickling, eyes 
glowing and glazed--hide the 
gritty heft of their skeleton keys? 
How do they silence the jangling 
in their pockets that reminds them 
of the rusty-hinged doors they 
closed, of the dark, still passages 
leading there?
How do they capture and 
quiet the trilling flock 
of musical nights and diner days? 
How shade the vivid fury 
of diamonds and daydreams? 
In what gilded cages do they 
display the aging hearts' desires 
and unborn loyalties that would, 
otherwise, fall into a jagged V 
and disappear 
into the southern night?

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six