Barbara Cicalese

Party of six


Running out of gas three lights flickering
sky turning the color of kitchen gaslight
wodden signs advertising
antiques war memorabilia selling
chechian lotus flower backbending
thanks for your patronage
see you next season
following midnight afternoons
toddler snowboots and wine
that tastes like fall all sangria
and sunsets no oak involved
it is rare to see the moment
of this ritual played
on the shamisen
tucked in her back pocket
sharing in the most basic sense
two for us, one for them
slightly drunk and whirling
This is sacred and ordinary.




Kitchen floor


even my grandmother is in on this game
sitting on kitchen floor
i can hear the glow from twenty yards
i can smell the shift in you
and me
maybe the pills are working
mine are the color of birchwood
by now habitual, seasonal migration
seems almost sad
this constant hopefullness

i can hear over a year ago
(has it been that long?)
i wonder if a rose is a rose
and grandmom doesn't care
about the rose or its name
how brutal this becomes
this tenacity to investigate
infinity all while paying
for soda in dimes and nickles

I am, quiet simply, sure
of this rarity




Stones


It is always worth the effort
deciphering oranges at midnight
what is nameless in childhood
can often be tolerated on long drives
without points of reference
there are many things the tongue refuses
so i said my name again
to god or elvis in every language
i have
i go back to that hour
dropping stones as i go.




The Taste of Severed Things: A Love Poem


Dusk is a girl
pine needle bed

Not wanting, always
to be public
This is us, in ruins
parts that have survived

Surely mass has intention
filled with small
betrayals

Some underestimate
how erotic it is
to be understood

sometimes a thing must be created

26 reasons to put on your boots
hours of
labor and intention

Conspiracy of language:

Outrage, Blodstain, Chagrin

Sanguine

Bridesmaid

A girl becomes a comma
like that.



Barbara Cicalese is currently an English teacher in Pennsylvania. Like most English teachers, she has fancied herself a writer, without ever being published.








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