ashburner_sp2006

In The Blue Of The Night:

Come here, midnight. Come out from underneath the bushes and kiss me
quick. The blue night has led me down an empty country road and I don't
know where I'm going. I'm looking intently for the roadbed but all I
see are blue flowers reaching up to heaven. Run fast, midnight. Run
fast and jump into my arms. They are fine arms, midnight, long and
lean. They can cradle the blue night into the day. Run fast, midnight,
come and see my legs. They are fine legs midnight, they can press hard
against the blue night, press the blue night into the stars above.
Come, midnight. Come fast. Run at me hard. I am out of breath and
sleepy from the night but I can catch you with my hands. Come and fall
into them, midnight. They are fine hands. They can surround our blue
night and hold it safe from the world. They can keep the disarray out
of our darkness, midnight. They can enclose our blue night as a
treasure-box, shining and gleaming in the light of the moon.

~

IN SOLITUDE

I am always in a panic but there is not time enough to get things in the
right order, there is not time enough to stop and say something beautiful. I am packing my bags for Paris and kissing my daughter goodbye. I am practicing how to be a good American but I have very finicky ways of saying please and thank you. I have very finicky ways of eating something described as delicious. I always forget to say grace when I sit down, perhaps that is what’s wrong with my cooking. Perhaps God would make sure my oatmeal was cooked better if I said a couple of "This Thy Services" before I grabbed a spoon. Maybe if I knelt down in front of a young handsome boy and told him stories of my wretched childhood. Maybe he would bravely pour on a lot of sugar and a large dollop of milk into my bowl. Everything is easier with sugar and milk. Desperation requires desperate measures. Everything is easier once you say sorry. Everything is easier once you say beautiful and mean it, once you give away to a general desire to cry. But we have plenty of time. There is time enough for you to paint red streaks down the side of my face. There is time enough for you to finish Hemmingway. In the morning you can wake me up with a lazy slap on the jaw. You can read from a book propped on your chest. You can sing it to me in Spanish, Despierte a mi querido y lea con mí.

Spring 2006		home : submissions : news Mannequin Envy a journal of visual and literary arts
		Mazie Louise Montgomery Spring 2006: In The Blue Of The Night + in solitude Mazie Louise Montgomery is the General Editor of Dicey Brown Magazine. She has recently been published in Wandering Army, Juked, and Menda City Review. She is a teacher and lives in the middle of nowhere, across the street from a cattle farm, down the street from what will soon be a field of tobacco, or cotton, or soybeans. kashburner@msn.com
home		In The Blue Of The Night: Come here, midnight. Come out from underneath the bushes and kiss me quick. The blue night has led me down an empty country road and I don't know where I'm going. I'm looking intently for the roadbed but all I see are blue flowers reaching up to heaven. Run fast, midnight. Run fast and jump into my arms. They are fine arms, midnight, long and lean. They can cradle the blue night into the day. Run fast, midnight, come and see my legs. They are fine legs midnight, they can press hard against the blue night, press the blue night into the stars above. Come, midnight. Come fast. Run at me hard. I am out of breath and sleepy from the night but I can catch you with my hands. Come and fall into them, midnight. They are fine hands. They can surround our blue night and hold it safe from the world. They can keep the disarray out of our darkness, midnight. They can enclose our blue night as a treasure-box, shining and gleaming in the light of the moon. ~ IN SOLITUDE I am always in a panic but there is not time enough to get things in the right order, there is not time enough to stop and say something beautiful. I am packing my bags for Paris and kissing my daughter goodbye. I am practicing how to be a good American but I have very finicky ways of saying please and thank you. I have very finicky ways of eating something described as delicious. I always forget to say grace when I sit down, perhaps that is what’s wrong with my cooking. Perhaps God would make sure my oatmeal was cooked better if I said a couple of "This Thy Services" before I grabbed a spoon. Maybe if I knelt down in front of a young handsome boy and told him stories of my wretched childhood. Maybe he would bravely pour on a lot of sugar and a large dollop of milk into my bowl. Everything is easier with sugar and milk. Desperation requires desperate measures. Everything is easier once you say sorry. Everything is easier once you say beautiful and mean it, once you give away to a general desire to cry. But we have plenty of time. There is time enough for you to paint red streaks down the side of my face. There is time enough for you to finish Hemmingway. In the morning you can wake me up with a lazy slap on the jaw. You can read from a book propped on your chest. You can sing it to me in Spanish, Despierte a mi querido y lea con mí.