after Pablo Neruda I love you the way I love Fritos, grape jam, and bling— the way a bonfire spits sparks into a sky scorched with stars. I love you as much as a full tank of gas—through switchbacks,and wisecracks—window rolled down so everyone can see. I love you secretly, between my plush and my pit—the way my mother loved her Persian Melon lipstickin the 60s—the way it … Continue reading Love Sonnet: XVII Revised by Dale Champlin
the day is getting closerclimbing like a high notesoft as a whisperbetrayal Lord now it (the note I mean)swings back and forth on a current of airand you’re just a slip of a thingit’s all I can do to lie still beneath thebedcoversthe pale breath of youcatching in my throatI trynot to thinkor not to think too much or I might die of something or otheror spend … Continue reading Oh the feel of it by Dale Champlin
after “Love Letter” by Diane Seuss Dear X, I’ve learned you so well, like a dog-eared book read once too often. Repeated lines keep coming back to haunt me. But what can love be if it is a past tense event? I think the expression might be love’s lost or something of that nature. To my way of thinking, the affection you were after was … Continue reading Dear X by Dale Champlin
“and even you forgot those brilliant flashes seen from afar” —Ruth Stone I should have taken you up on that trip to Mexico—my only chance to swim in the gulf, to surfthe exotic and erotic; tequila, bizarro birds,burnished sunrise through slats in the shutters,instead of a turndown. My big mistake was to playthe fool—too cool for school. I should have held youin my strong arms, … Continue reading Regretfully Yours by Dale Champlin
The stars know everything—how we toiledover every piece of furniture we own—the mohair sofa with its button tufts,the dining room table sweat-polished smoothas glass, your dad’s easy-glide Barcalounger.We thought the bed too tame—mundaneas white-on-rice. That was before we did it on the lawnat four a.m., the boat dock when the tide was out, the army hammock and the diving board.We worked over the meadow, the hayloft,the … Continue reading Come, Lovers of Dark Corners by Dale Champlin
-for my husband I have climbed you like a flagpole and left you at half-mast.I have run roughshod over you then begged for more.I have cracked you like a safe and looted all that I could carryI have cried on your shoulder and hung you out to dry.You are Everest to my Mariana Trench, a matchstick to my bonfire. I duck when you deluge and squint when you shine.You mean the world … Continue reading Otherwise by Dale Champlin
I’m liking this thing called sex, the way my spineroots me to the bedclothes; my DNA tinglesinto my ecstatic shoulders, the branchesof my arms to my fingertips—thoughtdissolves—delicious oblivion. I float, a girl again,maybe a boy. Under my goosebump fleshall splayed ringlets—I elevate, scrumptious. Crucified between cloud-drift and gravity, I go the distance; a cry arcs full-bodied,unrhymed from the shivers at my foot, by wayof my hummingbird … Continue reading This Thing Called Sex by Dale Champlin
My lover is walled into silence. I used to sit by the trash cans in my back alley smoking a joint while no one was looking. I called it desperation. My silence was all-consuming—too early pregnant—looking at gravel in the potholes back there and the neighbor’s dog wiggling and whining for a cuddle. Can you imagine? I wanted to swallow the back gate, the garage, … Continue reading Pregnant and Screaming by Dale Champlin
-after “I want to sleep with you elbow to elbow” by Joyce Mansour (translated by Emilie Moorhouse) I want to lie naked with my headtucked in the curve of your neckour hair braided like a riveryour hand on my assand my toes in the crook of your knee.I want to recline with your sexclutched between my thighssweating like a tall beerblissed-out as wild strawberries.I want … Continue reading I Want to Grab You by Your Short and Curlies by Dale Champlin
The only thing dead is my right arm—limp as a stunned mackerel washed up by the surf.I can see the fish is still attached to my shoulder.How weird is that? I can’t grasp the word for stroke. Nothing makes sense. I forget about breakfast,forget I should be hungry but don’t forgetto apply lipstick and sunblock. I’m not close to dead.Not even dying. In the ambulance, … Continue reading After the Stroke by Dale Champlin
