Author: morgan-bishop

To The Mother That Left Her Mouth Open On Sunday 

Written by morgan-bishop. Posted in Poetry.

Did the burning throat hurt less if it came from alcohol?
Or the lies sold like lemonade at garage sales
Was the taste of charred rubber and lemon skins 
Bitter? Or was it sweet like candy
Lime and salt held to your lips
Like sandpaper on my cheek
Did the yellowed skin finally match your drink?
Like forbidden camouflage 
Did the abandonment fill the space
And time between liquor store binges?
I begged you to take me shopping,
the smell of mint and cinnamon
covered the vinegar coated breath,
but I told you not to go shopping sober
when your aggression was stronger
than the taste of gasoline

Tumbleweed Lane 

Written by Sandee Gertz. Posted in Poetry.

your mother never loved you
the way you love me.

you felt safer in the arms of a man
over twice your age at 13, a man 

who touched you in the back room
of the dance studio then made you his wife. 

I hurt because you never knew what safe was
as I lay here in my bed and think 

of all the things I wish I could say to him.
all the ways you should have been 

held, your voice like birds as you
rub my arm and sing me to sleep, God 

is so good and I cry because people
weren’t always good to you. You didn’t

know the neighbor was your sister and
you didn’t know your dad wasn’t 

your dad and I need you to know
that you are not your mother. 

The Start of New

Written by Sandee Gertz. Posted in Poetry.

railroad tracks ran
like spaced steps across
warm earth.

the distance between each
measured by held hands
and conversations.

strawberry alcohol painted
my lips a shade of red
and I learned how much he loved
his mother.

abandoned tracks towered
over a river, lifeless
the only breathing from the oaks.

wet tar covered my white shoes and turned
them black, caked by heat
as we crossed to the other side
with my eyes closed and his
wide open 

don’t look down
so I did and the tracks turned
to cliffs, and the trees to mountains
I was somewhere in between

clouds dotted the sky
like splatter paint, we were abstract
in a forest lining
water that didn’t move

birds sang as we ventured,
we were children again
running, laughing at nothing
and betting on who could find
the biggest walking stick 

it leans against the door of his
front porch now, as we sit at dusk
on the neon chairs and I think
back to the turning leaves of seabowoshi 

The Old Farmhouse 

Written by Sandee Gertz. Posted in Poetry.

There’s an old farmhouse that creeks
Its big rooms hard to heat in the wintertime
With a chimney from 1802
On the edge of a neglected orchard
My grandpa planted and tended to
On the edge of a two -lane highway
That was a horse trail
And then a dirt road
And now an interstate
With mountain views
And a big front porch
And a kitchen with butternut cabinets
My yiayia would pull pyrex from and cook in
Dishes she’d learned
From her mother who read tea leaves
Back in Greece
Before she came to America hoping that each of us
Might have a better life
And it’s been hard but I know that we did
With a ceiling that once fell down
When my father was playing the drums
(he is where I get it from)
And my grandpa laughed and kept reading the paper
With plaster in his coffee
Where yellow roses bloomed outside the window
Inexplicably well and still do 

Glacial Tempo

Written by Sandee Gertz. Posted in Poetry.

Fluid has time been, slipping
through my fingers like a chill
glacial stream, slipping
grains of sandy soil grating
against my skin … what was
yesterday, when is tomorrow?
… all a blur, cloudy, murky with
uncertainties in this time uncertain
the chill sinking deep, deep
past skin, through muscles …
… to mere bone …

Tree of Life

Written by Sandee Gertz. Posted in Poetry.

Roots sinking deep into the rich soil, breaking loose the earth, thin, hairy tendrils creeping
… weaving … gathering nutrients that course through the xylem, into my body, limbs reaching into
the azure sky, capturing clouds … tender leaves wavering in the breeze that’s a quiet breath,
respiring, creating oxygen for gecko & squirrel that scurry over the rough bark … leaves
sketching images, casting shadows with mosaicked sunlight … limbs thinning to twigs, slim &
fragile – yet strong, holding, creating life, fingers splaying, gathering air & warmth … & those
twigs thicken & grow new twigs, continuing life ….

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Lebanon, TN