CYNTHIA RUTH LEWIS

I WATCH YOU BREATHE WITH
THE WORLD CRUMBLING AROUND ME


Watching you rise and stretch,
moving my hands to touch the
warm spot on the carpet where
you had lain, unaffected, unafraid,
paws twitching in dream;
I dig my fingers into the nap,
savoring the feeling, your tiny
body heat my only patch of sunlight
amidst all this cold, cold gray.


INBORN

It's amazing the things
you carry with you

From my father I received
my dark hair, gray-blue eyes
a strong reaction to wool clothing
and a great big hole inside
that compelled me to sleep
with every man I met
just for the attention and affection

From my mother I got
my fair skin, slender figure
an intolerance for lima beans
and an overwhelming urge
to smash things into oblivion
whenever they got in the way
and even when they didn't

From my brother I learned
that you can fake a suicide
and have the world handed to you
on a silver platter
especially when there's
really no cause
to even feign a death at all

From my writing I've learned
to laugh at myself
accept what I can't change
and even to forgive my family
for their over-the-borderline behavior

Forgiveness is the easy part.
Forgetting is much harder to shake off;
it's a goddman legacy.
It's in the blood


Cynthia Ruth Lewis:
I'm 38, having written poetry for the past 17 years. Currently back in the publishing
world after having taken a 2 year hiatus due to creative apathy and temporary insanity--
which, actually may have enhanced my writing. It has certainly enhanced my weirdness.







2005 Underground Voices