(PROSE POETRY)
2 POEMS
GABRIELLA BEDETTI
2 POEMS
GABRIELLA BEDETTI
Kisses
Gone are the kisses that made your knees weak, the sizzling kisses that flooded your senses, the butterfly kiss from plump lips. Far gone are even the mushy kisses from grandparents. What remains is the chaste kiss of peace, the blown kiss as the car backs out of the driveway, surprise kisses on the cheek at a dinner party, frequent hit-or-miss good-bye kisses that sometimes tingle with electricity, and make you wish for more. That wish slips into your dreams, startles you awake, makes you long for an escape to the green world free from the drip of routine.
Gone are the kisses that made your knees weak, the sizzling kisses that flooded your senses, the butterfly kiss from plump lips. Far gone are even the mushy kisses from grandparents. What remains is the chaste kiss of peace, the blown kiss as the car backs out of the driveway, surprise kisses on the cheek at a dinner party, frequent hit-or-miss good-bye kisses that sometimes tingle with electricity, and make you wish for more. That wish slips into your dreams, startles you awake, makes you long for an escape to the green world free from the drip of routine.
The Day after Christmas
The sun rises once again on frost-covered ground. Sparrows crowd the feeder. Squirrels clean up below. Cats relax after an evening curled up in catnip-infused boxes. We loosen our belts. After days of standing over cookbooks and counter, our joints are mending. A daughter scouts the reduced breakfast options for her boyfriend and herself: no sausage to pair with eggs; no maple syrup to pour on pancakes. So they go out. I sigh for the singing that has ended. I exhale expectations.
The sun rises once again on frost-covered ground. Sparrows crowd the feeder. Squirrels clean up below. Cats relax after an evening curled up in catnip-infused boxes. We loosen our belts. After days of standing over cookbooks and counter, our joints are mending. A daughter scouts the reduced breakfast options for her boyfriend and herself: no sausage to pair with eggs; no maple syrup to pour on pancakes. So they go out. I sigh for the singing that has ended. I exhale expectations.
Gabriella Bedetti is a Professor of English at Eastern Kentucky University. She has poems published in Still and Italian Americana, reviews in Signs and Poet Lore, and translations in Critical Inquiry and New Literary History. For the past six Junes, she has blogged a daily poem on https://lexpomo.com/. With her spouse, she is translating Henri Meschonnic’s poems from the French. She received an award from the Kentucky Foundation for Women to complete a collection of poems exploring issues of aging and ageism.
