The Land of Mornings

I live in a land of mornings,
where the fog stays low and wild,
and the history is permanent
in the eyes of every child.
It is here that there are windows
peering out on gloomy streets,
And the heaviness of evening
is when star-crossed lovers meet.
Our emptiness is welcomed–
as the empty always are–
by the cold arms of old cities
bearing streets and lights and bars.
It’s the romance of a moment,
but these moments seldom stay,
lingering too long at thresholds,
only then to steal away
with the radiator heat
trailing after crunching soles,
it taps on windows, begging
to be let in from the cold.
But be careful when you let it,
for the walls remember still
shadows of moments past
left to freeze out on the sill.

© K Paige Medina 12/17/2016

Cinnamon Afternoon

What is this magic–
This calming of light,
Cooling itself into gold?
What, then, this alchemy
Bubbling greenery into
Fire and sunsets?
What the cinnamon afternoons,
What the transference of life
Suddenly from skin into sky,
The brilliance of time
Passing gently
Into an older light,
A quieter music,
A distant and welcome memory of home–

© K Paige Medina 9/16/2016

Should Have Been

You should have been here.
We should have been these
Lovers, fingers twining
Beneath tabletops and sheets
Glancing with eyes like firelight
Secrets dancing
Shared
Promises hanging like smoke
Or nets
Above the dinner table
Laden with plates and cups.

It should have been you
Plying willing fingers,
Slipping breathlessly into
Smiling silence,
Looking,
Seeing,
Polishing our sweetest words
Meant for each other.

But I am alone,
Fingers laced with rings
You did not give me,
Enveloped in smoke,
Holes in my socks
With no one to hold me.

Lover I lost,
Your lingering distaste
For my incessant need to feel
Reaches like long fingers
To wrap my memories in tears.

© K Paige Medina 9/4/2016