Poetry

Jewels
Denise Dee

We sifted through cinderblocks, rocks, bottle caps
it seemed Pittsburgh's soil was alive
digesting, belching, pushing what it didn't need
to the top
where we knelt 
fingers combing

We played baseball on a diamond
that overlooked a garbage dump
that hung above the river

In Pittsburgh everything was layered
like a history museums exhibit
sliced in half
to show you how things evolved, your place in time
erosion wearing you into sharper focus

We knelt fingers combing
unearthing rubies, sapphires, emeralds
a jewel box full of stones
that shone brighter than
anything on top
my mother's dresser
a hinged box lined in velvet
coffin like drawers pulled out
costume jewelry lay lifeless within

Her engagement ring the only thing that sparkled
she never wore it
her wedding ring a flat, dull, tarnished band

My jewels shone priceless
amidst the rocks, the soil, the cinders
no need to try to contain them
I let them shimmer, slipping through my fingers

A genie, angel, fairy threw down
endless streams of light for us to catch
bits of colored glass turned into jewels
near the baseball diamond
we knew magic

This Rough Boy
Denise Dee

This rough boy 
this boy with swollen hands
stands near me
this rough boy
this boy with swollen hands
hands me a present
and says "how about a hug?"
this rough boy whose hands make things
come alive as I look at them
makes the gentleness in me
come alive as he stands
hands open
arms rising up to his sides
he leans down
somehow sees I am gentle
beneath my rough bark
his arms like branches
heavy under leaves
fall around me
his coat rustles as I put my 
arms around him
this rough boy
this boy with swollen hands
has a gentle touch
it is I who hugs with rough hands 
clutching at the tenderness
of this rough boy
my tongue is swollen
heavy with words 
I do not say

A love poem, of sorts
Denise Dee

The scar on your cheek
looks like railroad tracks
or barbed wire
the scar on your cheeks
points towards your lips
which are lush and full
I remember them
though they are hidden
behind your hand
as you talk and eat
words so quiet
I have given up on hearing
each one
bones on your plate
I look at your long fingers
wait for you to lick them
nod my head
now and then
under that soft spoken lisp
I sense fire and it seems
it is meant to destroy me
and I am not sure how or why
but right now I am trying to trust
how I feel, not your words
the scar on your cheek
is slightly raised
coming forward to meet my fingers
if I were to touch your face
all my scars sink inward
is that the difference between us?