BOX OF TREASURES

Cradling the burled box in my lap,
I remove forgotten treasures
piece-by-piece
and reveal their secrets
like an excited schoolgirl
passing notes in biology.

These are the songs
I buried long ago:

A glistening pebble still smelling of salt,
My first attempt at a balsawood carving,
The marble touchstone from "Gramps;"
the one with a fracture from when
I dropped it,
My third place ribbon when I
still feared the diving board,
Sonnets from the "tough guy" with intense
blue eyes in junior English

Returning poignant memories
to their home,
they will call me to visit
when my hair is silver
and my hands are trembling.




THE NIGHT BEFORE

He just lay there
motionless as the dead

A bottle of Merlot
empty on the floor

Daylight through verticals
film noir prison bars

Separated naked bodies
once entangled in lust

Now he asks my name
I make one up

previously published in The Dogwood Journal




SECOND-HAND GLANCE

A smoke-filled room -
the acrid smell was the first thing I detected.

Then the air - all grey and thick

But I saw him and through him.

And I loved his jaw line;
it was sharp and strong.

But he had lonely eyes,
and his shoulders slumped in sadness.

This party was his prison.
I, too, felt cornered by people.

I offered him my Absolute on the rocks.
He gave me the last drag off his Marlboro.

previously published in The Dogwood Journal


Beth Block is trained as an attorney and a history teacher. She is also a self-taught musician and singer/songwriter. Two of her poems currently appear online at Pemmican Press. Her work has also been published online in Identity Theory (Editor's Choice), Cautionary Tale, The Dogwood Journal, and Red Booth Review.