Patti Masterman Poems

My mama must have got the fortune for me, before my birth,
It must have said, you will never be pretty,
And you will be cut off from your real roots forever.
...

He squawks in a high pitch, like an old woman in hysterics
if something does not suit him, if an object is placed
where he did not intend to ever find it,
or if he is not consulted before every minuscule movement
...

Turn away to the day, where the sky’s hung with wonder
Follow back the forests, whose paths swallowed time,
For kinder are hearts, where emotion’s not plundered;
Love feasts a long time, on what's left behind.
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Forgive me if I chewed too fast,
And swallowed up all your niceties;
Crunching the pastoral love letters,
Stiffened with a backbone, of dried sobs,
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Like a veil of heaven resting on the stars,
The falling night spreads, like longing flying free.

Traces of memory implode against forever:
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Place fresh cut flowers
Wherever the rhapsody of morning
Gets broken through.
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In light measures
Sky reaches river,
Like a tributary
Reaches the sea.
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The ways of old houses,
Perceived as less modern,
Sprouting fashionable weeds
Somewhere light’s beholden.
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Never lived weeds,
Whose perfume-sparing flowers
Pardoned the mistakes of clay.
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Your far forgotten hands and face
Fly past the door, past earthly embrace
Where soul runs it’s sleep-flying dreams aground
And then on past the deep blue refrain we breathe,
...