Gary Glauber is a poet, fiction writer, teacher, and former music journalist. His works have received multiple Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominations. He champions the underdog to the melodic rhythms of obscure power pop. His collection, Small Consolations (Aldrich Press) is available through Amazon, as is a chapbook, Memory Marries Desire (Finishing Line Press).
She reads the tale
of the sullen cosmonaut.
It makes her miserable.
Parts of the ultimate are certain.
Mellowness mars simple desire
and nothing follows
this dark double entendre.
This Rorschach of Japanese turtles
is all a bit much for her.
He puts her mind at ease
with a cup of demitasse
and a strange homily:
don’t ever forget
the monkey’s eleven prayers.
She views the schadenfreude
and sighs, sipping, smiling against
this little seriousness of death.
She trips over alpine horizon
like song carried on gentle breeze,
armed with youth’s carefree exuberance,
a marvel of sweet innocence
ready to take on morning chores.
She speaks to the cows in foreign tongue,
but they respond as if well-traveled
beyond humble pasture’s makeshift enclosure,
as if sun’s rays translate intent into meaning.
He hears more than moos,
sounds of distant shores, remembered moments,
special gestures from friendlier years,
when emotions flowed like ice-streams
down vernal mountainside.
Lost until now, something has triggered
this wave of dusty remembrance.
It was a simple time
of happy awkwardness and forbidden love.
Thoughts believed gone forever
revived with a jolt of recognition.
He sighs, thankful for this sweet angel’s
unwitting part in this surprise resurrection.