Tuesday, October 6, 2015

A Poem by Theresa A. Cancro

Inert at the Door

My toe catches
first on pupil, then iris,
matched without matching as
the mirror cracks at the corner

of my lip, ear, an eyelash
whipped and alert in the squall
of mid-life, when we inherit only
a bit of morose honor
in milquetoast manner, unlike

one or two who prefer
to be independent
of these things, though they have
surely seen the short light
along moon's cusp,

yanked at hairs unbidden, those
graying dregs, mid-sectioned on past
crazed lips, sports cars, long legs
sheered on the ledge, not creased

catharsis in a nutshell, still
quelled beneath the moss
of mere inquietude, never mordant
until you masticate the willful quadrant
under a ragged fingernail.

Theresa A. Cancro writes poetry and short fiction from Wilmington, DE.  Dozens of her poems have appeared internationally in online and print publications, including The Artistic Muse, Lost Paper, The Rainbow Journal, Leaves of Ink, Plum Tree Tavern, The Heron's Nest, A Hundred Gourds, Presence, Wild Plum, Jellyfish Whispers, and Napalm and Novocain, among others.

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