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

LITTLE GIRL LEGS

LITTLE GIRL LEGS

little girl legs
patent leather shoes
walk - she dances on
her way to school

she gazes up
it shines like a
giant yellow balloon
on top of red brick

little girls
bewildered by its'
size, knows a sound
will cause her fear -
her feet, no longer
dance - instead
now dragging feet
across cement

a large yellow
balloon warns of
war - of bombs,
death - no family
left
sirens sound - hurts
small ear - or does
it hurt a mind calling
out in the middle of a
day -

together walk
little girls and boys
against a wall,
down two flights
of stairs to a
basement floor

neat - arms at their
side - straight -
no one laughs,
no one cries

small bodies sit
facing a putrid wall
of green - indian
style; girls bare
legs kiss gray cement
floors - heads touch
cold walls

hot air - inhale,
exhale, inhale on
bare flesh - eyes
closed - arms - hands
wrapped around a child's
head

all clear - a sound
erases fear as smiles
appear, pushing -
shoving - joking -
talking

until another day
unwrapped arms,
uncrossed legs -
hot air no longer
on little girl legs

Nancy Duci Denofio

WHAT BROUGHT YOU HERE?

What Brought You Here?

US Pennies tossed into dry fountains
no choice between soup or potatoes
no chance to catch polio.
The unknown enemy, wears torn
uniforms soaked in another color.

You dance to music as if survival were
a passing tune, never sharing stories,
crouched down, scrubbing floors -
a toothbrush. . .and what brought
you here Sergeant?

Smoke a cigarette at twelve, two
drags and laughing over Miss Monroe’s
chest, so tomorrow we shall cry over
death, run out of smokes and write
a letter home to Mama.

We still dance in silence
I’ll change the music at
the rec hall,
a different kind of harmony.

Nancy Duci Denofio
from "What Brought You Here?" published 2010
by Dystenium page 1

CHARLIE MANSON KILL THE PIGS

Charlie Manson Kill the Pig

guards help small children
cross a busy street -
guards tell us to shut up
in front of a pizza shop
during a noon hour dance
guards monitor the corridor
at school – send girls home
if they roll a skirt too high
paint our lips, swear under
our breath, toss a rock at
a stop sign or walk too close
to the opposite sex

a generation without
sense or sensibility - our
heads empty - so some
smoked weed, left home,
slept naked under a full
moon - without a guard.
we felt freedom and could
run, be – do – say – sing
or spit – swear or dance

then the boy next door,
sent home in a casket…
last I saw him he was flying,
on a Harley, wanted to be one
of those hells angels - he
got tough without a guard

So – protest the war.
death, limbs off of bodies, eyes
blinded by fire - works of war
gangs multiplied –
protesters took to the streets
with magic of art – graffiti –
kill the pig – kill the pig,
the establishment, rich or
richer.
We found peace, free love…
we loved each other - except
the guard.

We ended up the doers and
performers; a lawyer,
doctor, mother – aunt or
uncle - teachers hiding
behind metal detectors at
school - you see,
freedom we once called
ours - a road we traveled,
has twisted into foreign knots,
don’t know who the guards
are, anymore

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved