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ADELAIDE Independent Monthly Literary Magazine / Revista Literária Independente Mensal, New York / Lisboa, Online Edition  

 

 

 

TENDER

by Gabriele Super

 

 

Dissonance

Dissonance, in
blue.  The broken
rippling pond, driven
around at the park,
alive with lazy life
(bobbing ducktails,
glimmering scales).
Dance around it,
even though, under
the flame of summer-
you beckon.

Dance around it-
share a cigarette
and a coffee at
dawn while
life is still, and
swirling smoke and
steam are their
own orbit, a
celestial passing of
cosmic vices between
fingertips, back and
forth, back and
around.

Grey, the cloudy
iced over pond,
trudged around through
the snow. Grey, when it
is prodded and that ice,
under the pressure of
a fingertip
collapses into slush.

Through frosted
window panes and
freezing slush – you,
on cigarette three,
caught up in that
hazy dawn smog.

 

 

 

Cleaning

Cleaning the house
scrubbing the dishes, flipping
backwards through dinners
past.
Sweep up the crumbs at
the corner of the kitchen
doorway that keep sticking
to your toes.
Sheets into the laundry,
clothing into the laundry.
You, into the shower.
Put the books back
on the shelf, except
“How To Ruin Everything”
it has her name scribbled
in the cover, it
doesn’t belong here.
you can’t find
where it all
belongs.

 

 

 

Tender

There is flour under her nails
from the night kneading tender scones,
and she’s left the door propped open
out onto the patio.

Just risen, you sit beside her,
light a cigarette, and it burns
like she is already burning, like the late
afternoon cloudless sky.  You offer
her the cigarette and she hands you
her coffee, and the timer ticks.

You sit on the patio sharing a chair
with her propped feet and sharing
a cigarette and sharing her
coffee and sharing your

sunrise, her sunset, the
tick of time, and the coffee
has no time to go cold.

 

 

 

Best

The burn of sound
pressing between ears
too close to the speaker
and all the moving bodies
huddled around.

Barefoot and breathless on
the porch, stepping over
the doorstep, inside.

The flick of a lighter,
the brand it leaves
against thumbprints.

Sweat beneath sweatshirts
cold walks each step warmer
dragged behind panting dogs
in a circle back home.

 

 

 

Things to Take With

some notes of
bitterness
lingering at the back
of the tongue

“listen”

words for bitter:
baker’s chocolate,
lemon zest, bitten
adderall

just one last moment
one last sensation of
going out the backdoor
into the heart of fall

the pulse
the marching band
behind the ears
in the thick of it all

“listen”

burning sips of coffee
the first traces of
heat in the dawn

you, you, you.

 

 

About the Author:

Gabriele Super is a writer and teacher who lives and works in Saint Louis, Missouri. She completed her BA in English and Anthropology at Saint Louis University.    

 

 

 

 

     
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