ROSES ON A PILLOW

ROSES ON A PILLOW

Shadows blend with yellow light
a view from my balcony at night.
Figures clustered near a table,
drapes blow free, keeping beat
as the ocean breeze.

Shadows toasting, laughing,
drinking as bone china sings.
A figure brightens
near a yellow, orange flames
disappear in night.

Gazing at roof tops; color lights
of yellow, orange, red.
and eyes concentrate on a single
light multiplies ten thousand
times its size.

Movement slight, wind gentle,
natures tranquillizer hypnotizes
as palm branches kiss, touching
fingers in night. Bodies
clapping, blending together.

Hear the slapping of bare skin?
Not long ago, I recall those black
satin gowns, red roses and green
leaves, as skin rubbed against
satin on embroidered sheets.

Published in "What Brought You Here?" 2010
Dystenium LLC
nancy.limitededitionspress.com

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved @2011

LOVE LETTERS - My Mother's Lips

LOVE LETTERS - My Mother Lips

World War II



It all began one late afternoon
in October - my Father
handed me a stack of letters,
“For the stamps,” he said.

Well,
I knew different as I reached
out - touched his letters.

Father continued to point toward
stamps, repeating how valuable
they may be.

I never collected stamps but
I am a writer –

I retire early in the evening
turn on my television, switch
a bedside lamp on low, pretend
to listen to “Criminal Minds” only
to fall asleep before the criminal
is captured.

I stacked some of the letters
inside a drawer of my bed side
table – near me – for the first
time, love letters from parents –

I would hear for the first time
the love between my mother
and father -

My heart began to beat strange –
like those times I thought I really
loved someone for the first time?

Then I recognized saying from my
life, familiar things said between
my Mother and Father –

I began to want to read more – in
order since every single envelope
was kept, in order, in perfect piles.

A smile covered my face,
no one would see it, but I knew it,
I even heard myself giggle.
Mother, she always wanted to
squeeze Father – and all those
X’s and O’s – and even lip’s – my
mother’s lips kissed paper, and she
has been dead for so long.

Between letters I repositioned myself
my leg moving nervously about
as I lived their world, felt their fear,
love, desperation, and dreams.

Nothing could be better,
nothing could compare to this night.
My mother said, “One day we may have
a little girl, and when she’s grown she
may want to read all we have said.”

Mother died far too young, but
I recall all her words, and now
in black and white – as I neatly
fold them back inside an envelope
with special stamps.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
@2011

DREAMS

DREAMS

She awakes as beautiful
as she was when she shut
her eyes
She strolls a wooden deck
barefoot - large sweatshirt
hangs below baby doll
pajamas

Her eyes half closed
Her hands brush long
black hair from her
fair face

She stares between
trees now shadows from
a moon - out toward
the lake to dream of
a winter four hundred
years ago

Its on this land
she was born - when
dreams have carried
her, spoken to her,
brought her back to
this very hill -

still

she sees those once
her lovers killed by
arrows
those hidden by large
trees in woods
she wipes a tear from
her face
no reason now to cry

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
2011@

You Asked Me To Dance from "What Brought You Here?"

YOU ASKED ME TO DANCE

A white butterfly
you have come home to dance
on my shoulder, high above daisies
to spin in circles

casting our shadows on a pond
a rendezvous of seasons, and
a landscape covered with snow.
you fooled me.

Your sister’s, sister?

No one noticed when she fell
through ice.
A white picket fence keeps
me away.

I feel your wings.
You flutter toward the barn
pass the statue of the
Blessed Virgin Mary.

We dash to skip over holes
in the floor of the barn.
You grab my hand
we skip over reflections of
light on a wide plank wooden floor.

We pass a broken lantern -
red glass shimmers,
Grandmother’s wedding dress
hanging near our homemade stage.

You grab my hand - together
we run to the hillside
we roll into a ball and tumble
“head over heals,” Grandmother said,
“on over grown grass.”
We roll over clover - our toe’s tangle
in weeds,
we roll near apples left beneath the apple
tree.

In winter,
I hear you laugh -
tears roll down your face
you’re laughing so hard
you bend to catch your breath.

Your chin captures yellow of a butter cup,
again - wings of a white butterfly
leads me to the white picket fence.
The slope disappears.
The apple tree, a twig.
And your face
appears in murky water.

Your laughter still surrounds me.
A stone is tossed
circles swirl over,
and over.

My eyes close as if captured by the
swirling water,
and you were gone.

Forgive me.

A yellow eye - inside a white daisy
asked me to dance.
We are leaping across summer grass
near tall weeds and wild flowers.

Our dance ends - so,
I snap your stem to take you home.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved @2010