Poetry
GGC It's been three years almost and still I remember your breathing the last time we see someone seems to be the memory that returns the most I think about other things playing softball with you, building crab traps, sipping your beer, going to the Grand Canyon, early morning fishing trips, lots of early morning fishing trips I think about other things but your breathing, it haunts me pneumonia liquid in your lungs your breathing it had a melodic rhythm mesmerizing I found myself caught up with the gurgled sound and after awhile it became soothing I depended on that sound selfishly I depended on that sound because as long as it was there so were you each breath more faint than the breath before I put my face near your mouth so I could smell your life breath your air I held your hand, thin skin soft frail and yet it still felt strong to me although you didn't respond, I looked into your sunken eyes and stroked your hair I wanted to cradle you in my arms you would have hated that, you in my arms so sweet and tender I whispered in your ear told you how deeply you affected me told you that if I live a life at least half as full as yours that I too could die very happy I think you heard me I hope you heard me I kept stroking your hair you kept breathing that breath I held your ashes in my hands, let them fall between my fingers I miss you today with the rain falling leaving everything so fresh and alive. Stacey L. Chase In loving memory of my father G.G.C. 1928 - 1994 ------------------------------------- N’awlins Woman she is on her back so often that it’s no longer any fun not that it ever was anyway, but now, she feels nothing no fear, no pain, no hope, no love or even the pretense of love cigarette smoke rises from her mouth soaks into her long, tangled hair and the rough aging skin stretched across the kick-ass tough image that so deliberately defines her face what used to be a firm, inviting cleavage has become less inviting but who can tell in this dark room where light comes only from dim candles flickering from the inside of red glass domes decorated with white, plastic mesh a man comes in sits across from her shares a few words as he lights a cigar she looks away takes a long painful sip from her drink he stands up walks out and she follows as a big black man on stage sings the blues a bass guitar mixes with the moan of a sax her stockings are torn her dress is old I watch her I want to cry for her because this is all she knows but I don’t because she deserves the divine dignity that she arrogantly demands within her crudely displayed pride. Stacey L. Chase 08/16/00 --------------------------------- Ocean Breeze My eyes opened as the sun yawned lifting slowly from behind the span of ocean that currently stands between the emerging yellow and the thoughts filling your time as you quietly lean against the French doors that make an exit from our bedroom flowers on the deck have ocean spray glistening, gently commanding attention and you, you look so delicate as the light shines through your white satin robe exhibiting, like art, the curves defining the body that I know so well you’re thinking about leaving I felt it in your skin as I ran my lips across your body in the tender hours of the night the tender hours when you were dreaming of a life that is different from the one we share a better life a life that is void of the tangles from the past freedom and love do not exist under the same roof one is the price for the other but you don’t know that and when you turn to look at me you will tell me, you will tell me that you are leaving and I will want the sun to go back to bed so I can hold you one more time as the ocean breeze sweeps across the memories that we have slowly begun to shed. Stacey L. Chase 09/13/02 ----------------------------- Prison there is a sickening stench of pee rust sweat fear and so many things gone wrong it is excruciatingly lonely the isolation is unforgiving voices come from the walls that hold me captive the sound of the voices is a low, echoing sound haunting, melodic obscure these voices tell me things things I don’t want to hear i cover my ears with force i curl into the corner but i cannot drive them away the voices make me think things that are not true they make me feel things that I should not feel the things the voices tell me make me crazy they confuse me i can’t tell what’s real from what’s in my head these voices they assault me they do not love me they will fail to remember me upon my death yet… …i need them i long for them because no one else talks to me in this prison and i like it i really like it when people talk to me. Stacey L. Chase 06/12/06 --------------------------- Jeans on a Friday something about the way my jeans feel against my skin on a friday afternoon with the sun shining boldly across a beautiful blue sky makes me feel sexy all over makes me walk with a bounce and a bit of a sway makes me talk with a saucy mouth makes me feel like an animal on the hunt and so I prowl around the city looking at everyone as a possible lover playing dangerously as I wink and smile and make indecent propositions to bodies that I want to own for an afternoon bodies I want to control and devour and rock like a rag doll bodies I want to take full advantage of and bodies I want to leave spent filled up and satisfied with devilish pleasures bodies and mouths that I want to scream with until my selfish wants are fully and completely satiated until I stop licking my lips wanting more until I stop pulling at the inside of my thighs until my jeans feel like clothing rather than the hands of a naked sexy and wildly spirited lover. Stacey L. Chase 12/14/02 -------------------------------- seductive bath the lights were off candles were burning the smell of lavender soaked sweetly into my skin my muscles gave in releasing stress closing my eyes feeling tickled and stimulated as the hot, hot water rising in the tub traced the contour of my body working its way across my thighs entertaining the softness of my stomach caressing my shoulders slowly moving its gentle fingertips to my tense, arching neck a slight moan released itself from my mouth as I surrendered to what felt like forbidden pleasure to what felt like your beautifully feminine touch. Stacey L. Chase 12/11/01