On Faith

by Lisa Zaran

There's a man in my yard raking leaves.
I act out strange scenarios behind closed curtains,
dance like a maniac then stifle a laugh
because the window is cracked and he might hear.

There's a radio playing in the neighbors yard,
a dog formulating a fence jumping plot,
which I encourage by placing treats on the sill.
The song is nothing specific. The dog's name is Happy.

There's a dark appointed hour in which a husband
will return from work and a wife, decorated like
a flower, will renounce herself, dead as any terminal diagnosis.
All this I see from my viewpoint, as if I were appointed sister.

There's a child buried in my heart. I tell it not
to be afraid of the sound of rushing blood or darkness
for in both one can find consolation, an illumination
between the shadows. Why the eyes fill with tears,

the mouth with laughter, the mind with little opinions,
God only knows. After I have given up my life
for a better word, perhaps the whole world will read it
and nod their heads. She was right, they'll conjecture

and agree, the body is a violet plight of entanglements.
The heart is a little pointless mind of recollections.
The soul is a fish without wings, trapped in one shoulder
of the body. And there really is a man outside the window

raking leaves, clearing a path for us to dart across
and leave all our excesses behind. Why wonder?
One has to believe in something.

Eighteen - for Kirsten

by Lisa Zaran

She wants to leave, and now
how can I, on this early morning, before
the sun has broken through, before
the alarm clock goes off assailing,
find a nice, quiet place
to tuck my failures so I can vaguely
tell her not to go. How can I?

She kicks up all I had left to settle.
Years of dust, my past looks more
hopeless than ever. Still, I have
one hundred inner reasons for wanting
her to stay. Though many are mistaken.
Reasons, nonetheless. Thoughtless
thoughts that bounce around inside
my head at night when I should be sleeping.

She too suffers from her position, not unlike
mine but not the same either. That is why
I make a suggestion. The world really isn't
that big. It's us that are enormous. The world
is just a tiny room we fill beyond completion.
Really, darling, there isn't anywhere else to go.

A Sharing Life

by Lisa Zaran

Sometimes when I love you,
the energy it takes,
the thoughts which consume me,
I feel destroyed.

My days and nights,
both of which mean very little,
are all encompassed by you.
By the very idea
of your existence.

I am such a fool.
I know this. It's hardly
a judgment.
I actually feel destroyed.

I've never been
the independent type.

I used to think
I liked to be alone.
I think I like to be left alone.

As long as there is someone
waiting just outside the door.