This is a taste, a teaser as to where I've been lately and what I've been reading.
Adultery by John Siddique
Finally I reached across the table
to touch your face, the pads of my fingers
on your forehead first, drawing down near
the inner edge of your ear and under
to hold your chin, lifting your head slightly
as if I'm about to kiss you.
We are burning as if we are adulterers.
The table is between us to keep us apart.
I think if we are going to have to pay for this,
I want to have at least touched your skin.
we do not kiss, don't go home, or make love,
we drink tea--green for you, regular black tea
for me. I eat, you say you can't.
We are adulterers of talk and desire,
pretending that by not coming together
we are somehow still standing on the good side
of the line.
we sit amongst other lovers, no one know
we are not supposed to be, say my name, you say,
and I say it. I want to show you so many things,
you say. It goes right into the place
I have covered up and armoured, to pretend
it no longer existed.
Memorial Day by John Siddique
Sunday late Spring sun ascends
over section 60 of Arlington Cemetery,
as girl scouts plant small plastic flags
on the rows of graves.
Music of bugles, silence of prayers
learned especially for today.
Drums strike the air,
a beautiful war day across these States.
Sections 1 through 60; there could be
generations of families here,
great-great-grandfather down to only son,
perhaps a daughter now.
The sun ascends t fall over the years
which march forward in dignified rows,
war by war, and white stone by white stone,
peace by peace, ending by ending.
Now if you really want you're mind blown I'll tell you that Siddique's book of poetry Full Blood contains stuff even better than what I've shared here.