Something Worth Letting Go

“How can you stand to lose it all?”
That is the refrain on repeat
As if clothing and the coffee maker
Had some deep meaning
Deserved my grief
I suppose it is the fruits of my labor
But fruit rots
Like my body
Like flowers on graves
For those I love
Time is slipping away
Always passing
All that stuff is just shit
All that money is just green paper
I know too life without green paper
It is so mean it drives us to spend
One third our lives in its pursuit
But my dresser did not hug me
My shoes did not comfort me
When it all became too much
When life’s edges tore at me
Made me ragged
Beyond my ability
To bear my grief
It is all ash now
Blowing in the winds

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, January 2015

12th Month

Light from the full moon reflects blue off the crystalline ground.
In the distance, I see black soiled hillsides where
Construction has ripped the trees from the ground

Leaving the woodland creatures to find homes elsewhere
In our white dusted trees, in the forests to the west
I walk up the hill through the drifts and pass the last in a line
Homes that glow warmly from the strings of carefully placed lights

There in soft cold air stands a stag, statuesque, and unreal
As I stop, we assess each other for a few moments

Why should this majestic beast bearing
A full rack of horns ever fear me
So weak and slow by his comparison

As I continue on, his tail raises its warning flag
He leaps through the yards
Through what is left of his former forest home

I am left alone in the night
My hot breath billowing white clouds around me

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, December 2003

Glamorous

Friday morning started precisely at 7am for Abigail Rudd, as did every morning at Acme Chemical for the past six years. She parked her Volkswagen in the exact same spot and plodded to the front door to start her day managing the front office. Some of her co-workers sat on the loading dock with coffee and cigarettes before their shift. They would watch her pass and say “Good morning” to her. She would say “Good morning” back and there ended their conversation.

Abby was round, the shape and color of a dried gourd but with better skin. Although painfully shy, she wore fashionable patterned skirts as if someone had meticulously painted that gourd. They swung across her wide backside to the delight of some of the more lonely loading dock crew. She had a clumsy gate and kept her arms outstretched as if she were trying to maintain her balance. She had delicate hands and held them in a peculiar way- with her wrist bent, thumb and index finger pinched together, the rest of her fingers fanned outward in the shape of a bird’s wing scooping the air, trying to take flight. Continue reading “Glamorous”

Lady of Green Glen

Black cold night falls
Orange street lamp alights
Snow
It reflects
Illuminates the glen

She appears
Trick of the light
Shadow
Crouched, naked, pale
Porcelain legs

Black hair cascades
Hand covers her mouth
Worry
Fear of discovery
Under the jungle gym

Apparition of a woman
Stands only at night
Frozen
Fades at dawn
Until next dark

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, October 2003 (revised February 2017)