Saturday, 13 November 2010

The Exoneration by Angel Zapata

The storm fluctuates, edges closer to sterling.
Turbid rolls of nebulous sheets charcoal and tumbleweed,
spin furious as leaves strike magnetic gold.
I count the seconds between the miles.

The moon plucks a star from its eye like a thorn.
The pitch is ambrosia and midnight;
a canopy of liquid umbrellas melting to a fold.
I am wet from the effort of raising this tide.

A rumble, like the smooth hands of the deaf on a speaker,
stirs the porcelain cauldron, the brew in my delicate cup.
I am thirsty for vowels, for consonant intoxication,
but it’s always coffee he grinds.

This kitchen is tile and plaster, linoleum and stainless steel.
I am fragile stone frozen in my pine chair.
My husband thinks I ignore his pleas for redemption.
He is only beginning to understand the storm.

Angel Zapata, Georgia, USA


Crafty Green Poet said...

Angel Zapata has had poems appear at Every Day Poets, Gloom Cupboard, The Absent Willow Review, and The Short Story Library. Visit:

Lily Childs said...

Beautiful Angel; I empathise completely with the narrator.

To dance in a storm is to live at the edge of divine delight.

ecelliam said...

Outrageous,in good taste, I love outrage.
Thank you so much.
My poetry is outrageous too.

Again thanks, i'll be watching you.