Thursday, October 8, 2015

Two Poems by Rose Mary Boehm


We used to fish
with first morning light,
the waking leaves
and early birds, the stillness
of Dutch waters.
Jumping fish
startled us.

Your call conjured up
damaged enchantments.

I have this space
deep inside.  Something
buried alive,
still writhing
when dawn breaks
an unquiet night.

Though you got old,
you knew
that we'd been lovers.
The strain in your voice
told me you remembered.

For the Lover I Left

In nights of unsung beauty--and there are
always some--you heal the wounds inflicted
by Vesuvian fires in the underworld branding
your flesh when you had no coin
to pay the ferryman, and no redemption.

The portal built by you, my eager architect,
was meant for two.  But only I went through.
You stayed behind mistaking liberty
for latitude and open fields for toil.

I left the safety of your promises, abandoned
my own expectations and paid my crossing
with my breath.  I waved to you who lingered
on the other shore, but our separation
was so much more than distance.

There were occasions when you almost
crossed the river, buoyed by your apprehension.
I have moved on.  Your master plan is out of date.
But there's a cabin where the ferry stops, just on
the right, behind the giant Tree of Life, where you
can rest awhile.  It's filled with smiles.

A German-born UK national, Rose Mary Boehm lives and works in Lima, Peru.  Author of two novels and a poetry collection (Tangents) published in 2011 in the UK, well over 100 of her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in a good two dozens US poetry reviews as well as some print anthologies, and Diane Lockward's The Crafty Poet.  She won third prize in the 2009 Margaret Reid Poetry Contest for Traditional Verse (US), was semi-finalist in the Naugatuck poetry contest 2012/13 and has been a finalist in several GR contests, winning it in October 2014.

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