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P.J. Nights




blue notes


the blues in our lives are both the deepest and most transparent       I once got an F in art for trying to watercolor the three-dimensional blue of twilight  for attempting a rainbow around the moon  I might die happy eating fried eggs on the porch under the bluest sky this spring—coffee tastes better watching the fiddleheads sprout       I put on a silk shirt because it caresses me as no other       there were crabs in the trap I stuck my finger into       for the pinch, unpaid lifesavers in my pockets that I sucked and spit in the gutter wings are shaken to the balcony       look, look into double mirrors for layers overthrown       the silver chains that lock necks and purple bougainvillea       I wait under trumpets of jewelweed and reggae       remember me chalk-painted on the road to your house       itís four little minutes past midnight, another day       the blues in our lives are almost transparent





the rain writes black

between the rushing crescendo
                 & decrescendo
of wind, I hear birds on boughs calling
        mama mama
                          mama !

my own hallucinations resonate
with the dayís responsibilities, not hearing

the birdsí busy season Ė- boys finding girls, girls
filling the nest before summerís heat
    collapses them
          into fixed geo
metric pat-
terns

the roar is stronger now, calling pamela
    pam
         pam   PAM

             triggering a reflex dance
    below a sky turned gray
                            over saffron

before birds swallowed the essence of my belly
-- when I still opened out to a fanís breeze --
before swirls of thick shade
    meant an opening not an end,

the wise toad made a green pavement
of round water bubbles, my steady breath
      caught above reed-pipes
in captions more solid than the smooth
    river stones beneath my feet

now as movement turns footing to sand
   & bathes my body in the hoots
        of secluded owls,
I am inflated again by prehistoric winds,
laden lightly with the womb of the moon



©2005 by P.J. Nights




PJ Nights lives in Maine, where she teaches astronomy and physics, two loves passed on to her by her father. Her current projects include a collaboration onsacred sexuality with graphic artist Joseph Barbaccia, and co-editing (with CE Laine and Dorothy Mienko ) The Women of the Web anthology, available from Sun Rising Press. Her poem "from wives and mothers" was nominated for a 2004 Pushcart prize by Blue Fifth Review. You may read more of her work and that of other poets at from east to west.


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