The Key

I have a light
In my little life,
Someone holds a candle
Someone else a knife.

One shines in darkness
The other in sunlight,
I could have hope
Or end this fight.

Two paths cross here
My state of mind.
Will it be damnation
Or hope that I find.

Someone holds a candle
Someone else a knife
Who holds the key
To my little life.

Adolescent Memory

Humming to herself

she stood, half dressed

slip and bra already on

one foot upon the bed.

She rolled a stocking between

her nimble thumbs and fingers

not noticing my presence,

her angled reflection

in the bedroom mirror.

I spied the scene,

voyeur

                 or victim.

She rolled the 15 denier ring

over her ballet pointed toe,

smoothing as she stretched material

and hopes

higher and higher.

Sheer material against still youthful skin

dark band contrasting the pale

translucence of her thigh.

Then suddenly she dropped her leg

smoothed down her slip

and closed the door

with a sigh.

Diaspora