Beneath the Skin
In the dark beneath the skin, in secret dark
I lie awake, thinking of the colors that you
Showed me, when the wind was dancing
in our hair. Your skin, my skin not as different
as they told us; Someday mine would wrinkle
just like yours, though yours a little darker than mine.
Beyond my window beneath the skin,
In secret darkness I stare,
at those stars that you said we were all a part of.
You really meant it then.
What has changed your mind?
Time? Them? You? Me?
Or maybe I shouldn’t have told you where my blood
Came from. I didn’t think it mattered;
We both had some pumping underneath our skin,
Stretching as we grew, until our hips, and breast appeared
Suddenly to our surprise, though yours a little wider
than mine. In the dark beneath the skin, in secret dark
I lie awake thinking, if you were blind would
We still be friends, or are we as different as they say?
Beneath my skin full of darkness, I cry.
When The Orange Has Faded
When the orange is gone,
Out of the Clouds,
and the nights and days
Turn into loud silence
Into that meadow in June
Beneath the skies of stars and sun
that overwhelm such a place
as Bourge, France.
for the Calm I have lost
I last strolled
through its tall
Blades of grass and orange flowers,
past the dwellings, on the hills…
To here and now
where I can converse
Fragmented French phrases
and Francis Cabrel’s song Octobre
is downloaded on to my home computer
Yet, the serenity still remains
In my mind
Back in Bourge
Inside those orange petals
that bloomed like Sun kissed children
Peaking over long blades of lemon grass
to see if anyone has found them.
There, in that meadow
like lyrics and sound
It all comes together.
I hear the flowers’ melody calling me…
Calling me back to their orange hues…
Everything makes sense again
Everything feels and sounds…
(Gin Bender Poetry Review, November 2002)
Accepting the “Movement Song” by Andre Lorde
I have touched the tight scars on the back
of your shoulders, hidden away from me beyond
remembrance or possibility. Your mouth becomes
the evening reminder of longing.
Through light of sun and stars, we hear always
some goodbye in the chairs, in the kitchen, over coffee,
before running for doors
pushed in opposite directions, without thought.
Do not judge me as a sinner or freak,
As the teacher of failure nor a trap,
Portal to that hell
Where forbidden and righteous angels
Fight on the lands of God in five o’clock wars,
Rushing to arrive elsewhere.
And now there is nobody to care for them.
Looking away from me into unconsciousness,
Thinking of time and promises,
The hours are stuck out against us.
We are rewarded by journeys
Away from each other
Where we are nothing but broken pieces
Do not call me unworthy,
The spoiler of secrets.
I am also a victim in this massacre,
Waiting for You to stay, slowly out of my mind
Except we cannot waste love,
Gloria Campos-Hensley is from Houston, TX. She received her Bachelor of Arts Degree in English of Creative Writing from the University of Houston. Her work "Hiccup of Fears" appears on-line at Inspired to Journal as one of the winning entries for the October 2002 writing contest. "When the Orange has Faded" appears on-line in the November 2002 Gin Bender Poetry Review issue.