Thai Lynne, Welcome The Storm

autumn child

she used to be winter child
cold nose comforting
and layers piled on thick
now she is woman
borne of summertime
of grass and flowers
and blistering sun
cool breezes like kisses
on sweaty, sun-soaked flesh
short skirts reveal
a too-vulnerable girl,
sipping at the space
between his legs,
but she is hardly weak
only soft against his sharp mind teeth
but these compromises
were never written
in blood or stone
she won’t imagine
a life without sweet marzipan
kissing her lips,
the wind kissing her skin,
and him kissing
the secret places
the sun is too shy to reach

bound

her eyes are dry like sand dunes
in the scorched desert waste
the sun, too eager a lover
and he has drained her
there are tiny diamonds
behind her aching eyes
and they bite and she bleeds
the light is going out
her eyes struggle in the dim
You used to be
all over me
and under me
and fighting me
and figuring me out
She is silence until her lungs collapse
inside gilded ribs of ivory and alabaster
the silent resonance of he knows better
so cut her open bleed her dry
paint her on the wall, peeling
what then will be the plan?
his gospel failed, bed empty,
bloody hand prints shaking
babies crying, heart-wrenched holding breath
and bleeding lips and eyes
and here’s his blushing bride,
frozen, and this, too dark for words,
unbidden.

target practice

even the fruit flies
are drowning their small,
fluttering sorrows
at the bottom of my wine glass
sipping at the crimson dregs
and though I fly by night
it’s still enough to make
questionable decisions
quiet, late embraces
bloody footsteps in the sand —
two then one —
and who would care
if I’m an artist?
but I found you in (you found me out)
the folds of disapproval
quivering,
in the quiet, modest night
curving softly outward,
holding breath
and I should probably
stop drinking

coast girl

the wind sneaks in,
sweet, from open window,
my hands still weak from sleep.
The sun hides,
behind solemn clouds,
and loudly threatens rain again.

There are seagulls in my eyes
that chase each other
‘round the skies
and even though I must return
to rolling hills
and prairies, long,
my little seagull’s heart, she burns,
and sings her little song.

Cool breeze on hot shoulder
[tempting, whispering and]
tease of salty ocean,
of water lapping at toes and legs,
at hips and breasts,
sweet salt on parted lips.
Cold shock, a gasp for air,
and squeal in delight.
Delicious tug of tide on legs
that slip quietly out
to join the rocks
and whales that surface
beyond the island,
in open sea.

There are seagulls in my eyes
that chase each other
‘round the skies
and even though I must return
to rolling hills
and prairies, long,
my little seagull’s heart, she burns,
and sings her little song.

But still, I miss you.
I don’t need to,
but kissing you
invades my thoughts sometimes.
I want to take long walks
on the beach with you,
to wade in oceans
and laugh at dolphins,
‘till the sun comes out
to kiss our cheeks,
and laugh at our good
fortune.

finger paints

with the rain comes
the usual, haunted darkness
of sky and mind that grips
shoulders with white knuckles
pressing down
and I am into the ground
small and quiet and cautious
pushing aside the hurricane
silencing the winds
and every breath pushes me
farther from the healing
that will clear the storm clouds
in the fingertips
but secretly it is the winds
that move me with each
shuddering breath
I fill my body with
the memory of who I used to be
so arms outstretched I welcome the storm
breathing deep the cleansing rains
that wash me clean and leave me feeling
dirty and desired

Thai Lynne writes from home while caring for her three children. Part-time, she is working on her Bachelor of Arts degree with a Major in English from Vancouver Island University. Her work has appeared at Borrowed Solace Magazine, Dodging the Rain, Anti-Heroin Chic, The Hunger Journal, and in Zimbell House Publishing’s anthology, River Tales. This summer she has a poem appearing in Poetry South’s tenth issue, and two short stories appearing in Twist in Time Magazine and on Months to Years.org.

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