Poetry through the Seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer
If we could watch life
ticking away in red
countdown numbers,
would we be content
knowing how many ticks
we have left?
Or would we rue each second,
too visibly aware
of how much is already lost?
Would fear overtake us,
gluing our feet to the very spot
on the floor where we stand
staring,
unable to live our lives,
unable to remove our gaze
from the numbers?
Or,
as they tick down
slowly,
one by one,
are we finally fearless,
having witnessed
the face of time?
Your eyes are clouds of medicated bliss,
mean and sparkling as you speak.
It hurts, I say.
Yes, you sneer, eyes bright like clear luster marbles.
The brutality leaves me stripped of my powers.
Like a baby, so soft, the words raise blisters on my skin.
Am I just a story you tell yourself?
I dream a man ties you up.
He hates mothers, having suffered much at their hands.
This vial is my betrayal,
a slow, steady poison passed down, mother to daughter.
Can’t you please leave me intact when you go,
one final suit of armor to protect me?
A glimpse of dull grey fear shadows your eyes,
and I soften.
I have no wish to fill your remaining time with torture.
Disease delivers enough of that.
Pain is real and I keep it close for comfort
as you lead me through the fog.
I follow because I know no other way.
I am your only child.
On fire
with hatred,
danger camps
on every doorstep.
They burn witches,
don’t they,
to cleanse the ills
of society?
Trouble stirred
into caldrons of chaos
while the accusers
hide under their beds.
Symbols tattooed
on the skin of the tortured
remind us
something’s always out there.
Can’t fear be teacher,
sewn from scraps of sorrow,
guiding us with knowledge
rather than arming us for battle?
In different beds,
we dream
the same dream.
Between us,
so dark,
so hidden,
lie lost children’s lives,
mother’s nightmares.
The enemy is
on my doorstep.
I can never be redeemed.
I undress you
for the last time,
for the first time.
Flesh fulfills our destiny.
Then from my arms,
she is stripped,
the beautiful girl,
and I am alone.
Dressed in red,
blood still wet
on your wounds,
you are the only color
in this dreary world
of wishes.
Your betrayers
don the black
of sorrow.
A thousand slivers
slide beneath
your laughter.
You’re beautiful
like splinters
of stained glass
seeking solace
in a new religion.
she chances
to see them together
bile
what was once love
rises up
into her throat
she runs away
slipping on deceit
and falls to her death
her heart impaled
on betrayal’s sword
* * *
Love,
my disease
most desperate,
ripped from the vine
like raspberries,
red ripe and squashed
beneath my feet.
Love has me
shattered
into bitty pieces,
has left me smoldering.
Violet dark
and brooding,
love promises
to destroy us all.
Pain deeper
than a stake
through love’s
bitten heart,
so deep
is the river
I might
drown.
Hands join in battle,
friendship,
in love.
Hands move in pairs.
Holy lips bring fire,
burn house down.
Hands touch as lips,
creating great
disturbance.
Armless,
we lose the chance to hug.
In pairs,
we come back.
Alone,
we are fingers.
Together, hands,
joined
to make a difference.
In the tower,
I watch you healing;
it’s a self-served
march to freedom.
Memories, they float
like chocolate,
taste me sweet
inside the mirror.
And I radiate
with power
to the unposed
questions answered,
as the master
turns a cartwheel
to become
the great pretender.
Still the children
won’t forgive me
if you sleep
without your nighty.
Breathing in
the tortured cadence
and I want to take
you with me,
but I’ll stay.
You leave me in pink,
no one to dance with.
My song won’t play anymore.
So beautiful in black,
too close to kiss,
we battle for beauty
leaning into each other,
just to be pretty,
just to be loved.
The party’s over.
I’ve soiled my dress.
Please, won’t you please,
take me home.
Men are beasts.
Even the good ones
betray.
get away from me
He got mean
and you
loved him still.
Happens all the time.
he’s not
always like this.
Afterwards
he won’t remember.
blueberry kisses
and he’ll protect you.
You watch him sleep
in beastly shivers,
waiting
for the savage
to call your name.