We Were One by Robert R. Ciccolini

I wanted to leave something for my kid:

So I started to write about some of the things

I thought she should know,

some of the things that left a mark.

Like when right after she was born

how I fiddled my pinky into her

delicate hand..

And how she clenched it so

tight and I felt so big that

there was nothing but us,

and how whatever I was

thinking stopped so it

could listen to her voice-

The one before language..

Before the abc's, before time,

before all the pain, before the

first hunger pang, the first

yearning she would ever

know undelivered..

When it was like my

finger was that cord for

a second and

we were one.

Kindergarten Poets by Robert R. Ciccolini

Some of them like to use

big, shiny, esoteric words that

leave you stuck somewhere-

lost.

But some of them understand,

and coax something out of you

like goosebumps or a tear- or just

plain awe. They understand the

richness in simple things:

a hug hello, honesty,

paste.

Like the paste my son used to stick

the sun to the sky in kindergarten.

It's different than the stuff that can hold

a truck in the air. It's more soft

like the running

hug hello and

the honest eyes of my son.

There's no cunning there.

So take all your big, shiny words,

all your sophisticated rant-

all your Kant.

Just leave me alone with my son.

His hugs and honest eyes,

his kindergarten sun

will

stick to me forever.

Out of Season by Robert Ciccolini

Come take a walk with me-

come for the ride..

I just want you to talk to me,

meet me outside,

of the trap that has sprung

from the floor

of the rage we hold onto.

So many times I have stood

with my ear to the door

of our lies,

I have tallied the score

we have etched on the board,

it's a tie when we both

are deceiving.

There's a box of humility

there on the shelf,

it's not easy to reach

or so I tell myself,

or maybe it's locked by

some unknown device,

if you go first I'll go twice.

So here we stand

we're all broken,

and all of the lies

we have spoken

continue to heave,

and the signs in our windows

read closed even

when we are open.

With my staff in my hand,

with my pride on my shoulder,

my feet in your reason,

our blood on the wall,

come now I beg you

the blizzard is gone,

all that's been left is this song.

Go now

don't ever look back,

you're no fool now to act

like the dream is alive

and you know,

the love that we knew

it was true,

now it's just

out of season.

Whole by Robert R. Ciccolini

Just one more grasp is all you want;

One more teacher, one more jaunt.

One more glass, more tonic

mass deception.

Morning tide won't rub

it off. You dug too deep,

you killed the only

moth left blind

attracted by your

burden.

Now you know

the way to hell

is riddled with

what preachers sell,

it's hallways are

adorned with

sacred burglars.

Now that you've matured

a bit the litanies

become the grist for

lions in the alters of

your temple.

And you know you

can't go back-

the bridge collapsed

into the gap.

You kneel amidst the

dust there, weeping,

whole.

Mind by Robert R. Ciccolini

Sacred clowns are dancing

on the stage when no one's watching. They are caught between the

darkness and the crack under the curtain.

Silly colored faces they arrange in paint and

pencil. They consider all the crevices and fill them in

your honor. They ignore the insurrection that sits

glaring in the corner, and continue carving smiles

under your eyes.

Riding in the shadows, they sneak in- no invitation.

They bring cocktails and pajamas and then party on the

doorstep. Holding hands with broken angels, breaking bread

with all the guests who were so kind..

Crazy clowns cavorting they run screaming in the hallways-

tossing smiles into the air and dashing to

the arms of demons. Crackling in the fire,

they smirk inside the smoke and mirrors

of your mind.