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Sugar

I saw my jowls drop
struggled to sustain
my high set cheekbones
knew my eggs had dried to dust
still the warmth between my thighs
was a beacon
for my keeper
my lover
older by three decades
wise as Aristotle
but I
cunning lips and loins
kept at this incredible dance between beauty and exit

I ain’t gonna lie
I had the time of my life
from Rome
to that castle on some coast
between Croatia and Albania
the plunge pool on the edge of the earth in South Africa Lordy
but the dips – when I say this I pause to breathe
emotional dips
would hit like an invasive species that sucked my core dry
and I’d bottom out

Today
I’m centered in
the ordinary
where any minute he could drop dead
as he’s teetering over 80
what it is – sweet honey is
yet it isn’t….wasn’t

That inertia of our slow dance
to A Girl From Ipanema
in the private club
as we slid across the floor
the lights held us in a frame
he held my diamond-adorned hands
I was angel doe-eyed
with mascara and liner perfected by Cleopatra herself

It was fire….then
a life sentence now
but I gotta have and hold
my sugar

There Sat Grandmother

hammered by noon
what became of her guitar
her marigold sweater
with the deep pockets
that held her Marlboros
her matches
and pocket knife
what became
of the pedophile Bill

He visited every morning
preached the Bible
spoke highly of the good Lord
Grandma knew
as she sat
holding that dark green plastic glass
filled with bourbon
I would put my hands in her pockets
their depth spanned an outer limit
when I placed some marbles in them
those pockets opened to a wormhole
for sure
marbles never returned
but Bill did
day after day

And the ice cream man would cruise
up the block
he had a prison look they said
all eyes fixated on the ice cream man
Grandma had her sundown nap
Bill bought us ice cream
and what did we know as we licked
and sucked
our tongues dug down to the very bottom
of that dry cone

1994

It was dusk
you and I vultures
at the table
the last supper
Christ brought the wine
we drank it all
searched for more
thirsty so thirsty
lied to get it
soaked ourselves in its bitterness
died twice
rose up
from some dank tomb we shared for centuries
terrified of what the world had become

Ran into our future selves
who were the same as we already were
no epic evolution happened
we hunkered down
creatures of sad habit
cracked into a millennium
broke as fuck
tormented and wiry we twisted ourselves to fit
we crawled back to the table
expecting Christ to return
with more wine

How Does a Gun Just Go Off?

Somehow a gun fired a bullet
into a beautiful skull
there must have been an accidental
hair of pressure
on that sizzling trigger

That finger – lighter than a kiss
that finger
lingered a millisecond too long
on the trigger that waited
longingly for its mother-finger
perhaps an eternity
to get to this place
four degrees
no sun
just gray pre-death
as if the sky anticipated the blow
as if all creation
held its breath
to gear up
for the shredding
of brain and body
into the torn universe
in one-thousandth of a second
it sealed shut in silence

7am

Bitter cold
7am and still dark
a raccoon slinks across the road
I barely miss it
the moon cracks itself to stay put
while the sun – a dreary worn yellow
moves in slower than death
as I pull into the parking lot of the train station

My gut churns with the morning that has finally rolled in
some deep sense of responsibility takes over
reminding me
things need to be completed
before I am finished which is not today …. not just yet……
in this bone chilling morning
even the sun is a cold shoulder
and there isn’t a work around
nor some incredible idea that has been born inside of me
to figure out each and every obstacle I come to
like hurdles a horse jumps over in long endless rows
the hurdles increase in height – some diabolical plan
to take mankind down and bless me I’m coming to it — that hurdle
that extends my (or anyone’s for that matter) complete height
and when I hit that – when I do….
I will hit so hard
it will flatten me out

Someone’s gotta break it – someone somewhere
in any man’s time
has to figure out
how to crack open
our vicious cycle

ABOUT THE ARTIST

Donna Dallas has appeared in a plethora of journals, most recently Beatnik Cowboy, Quail Bell Magazine, Blood Moon Rising and Fevers of the Mind. She is the author of Death Sisters, her legacy novel, published by Alien Buddha Press. Her first chapbook, Smoke and Mirrors, launched in 2022 with New York Quarterly. Her second chapbook, Megalodon, launched in 2023 with The Opiate. Donna has served on the editorial team of Red Fez and NYQ.

donnaanndallas@gmail.com
@DonnaDallas15