By Invitation Only
Just when you think you can hear beyond
the mowers and raw hum of traffic
to the sounding in high tree tops of the hermit thrush,
when you think the bougainvilleaโs shades have deepened overnight
to wine hues, and the scent of oleander smacks
the sultry hour with its powdered perfume,
and just as you feel you are ready to accept
a purse full of disappointments,
and the sinews inside your heart
have separated song from static,
finally humming an invitation to happiness,
just when the world is quiet, and you can entertain loss
like an invited guest who asks to sip
from whatever you are drinking,
but instead spills something deeper
that seems to pour from the nub of sadness โ
and just when you think you must continue to entertain this discontent,
you let it drip onto the bouquet of lilies you have picked from a garden,
that insists on blooming in spite of what has just happened
Butterflies and Sirens
( A response to the sudden migration of Painted Lady Butterflies to Los Angeles, spring of 2019)
I was there for the rain,
but left
before the early bloom
of nettles and mallows,
was absent
when the angel voiced siren of Los Angeles
taunted the Painted Ladies north
to feast on lupines and milk weed,
everywhere
the cloak of orange,
their black wing-tipped eyes,
staring down at the amazed denizens,
while skimming by buildings,
and bike racks, and bus horns blazing
my son, Noah, named for such survival,
sent a video
hundreds in mid-day light,
hovering above his head, while the sirens of the city,
blared through this place of comings and goings
drawing all to look closer,
at the shock of arrival,
the surprise of flight,
and a noon epiphany–
the sirens’ calls–
announcing the end of the drought.
The Fall
Dropping from the glittered trees
leaves’ boastful colors merge
for an icy moment,
then wind’s will sweeps
them over the hardened grounds
of an august passion,
proud in its deliverance
the unwieldy autumn gust
hounds the heavens,
until the sky collapses clouds to ground
all bronze and silver colors of the season,
which knows the wind
spins everything a shade softer
like the color of a palm
held open under a landscape of stars
Invisible
Cat calls, now are real screeches I hear at midnight from my bed facing an alley.
No one wants to help me change a tire. The black low cut dress does not work, nor even
fit. Yet, I dance with feet alight, but no one watches. In torn, stained tees, I walk without
fear of anyone following, or calling, or grabbing. I can curse aloud, no one hears, when I
say:
I am here, I have proof, lines, scars, the stretchy skin I still live in.
After the Assault
I heard the sirens in the distance coming closer, and I knew who they were keening
for. Before the call, the knock on the door, the wail closing in, I captured the bird
song, the skyโs teal cover, the buzz of midday flies. The neighbor’s cat scratched on
the screen door, the air rife with motion. I knew nothing would ever feel the same,
as my bruised body lit before me.
Last Will
We had a fight, and I forgot almost everything. My voice was shrill. I could not whisper.
I slept and upon waking made a list of everything I hate about you. Entries in the
dictionary of spite: thunder, marrow, grub, –nothing like butterscotch, gossamer, mallow.
I understand anger, but struggle with forgiveness. Telling is easier than showing.
Hatred decorates vacant rooms:
Throb, red, thorns– ambushed while hiding in the rose bushes.
Laurie Kuntzโs books are: That Infinite Roar, Gyroscope Press, Talking Me Off The Roof, Kelsay Books, The Moon Over My Motherโs House, Finishing Line Press, Simple Gestures, Texas Review Press, Women at the Onsen, Blue Light Press, and Somewhere in the Telling, Mellen Press. Simple Gestures, won Texas Reviewโs Chapbook Contest, and Women at the Onsen won Blue Light Pressโs Chapbook Contest. Sheโs been nominated for four Pushcart Prizes and two Best of the Net Prizes. In 2024, she won a Pushcart Prize. Her work has been published in Gyroscope Review, Roanoke Review, Third Wednesday, One Art, Sheila Na Gig, and other journals. Happily retired, she lives in an endless summer state of mind. More at: https://lauriekuntz.myportfolio.com/home-1
