Nonno Presente by Nicole Barth [2/7/12]

It makes me wonder, as I stare at the wire-framed owl on my desk:

would you be proud of me now,

as I sit, hunched over the blue screen of a fairly new laptop?

Three hours since I decided I should be in bed.

The binding of my journal—A Moleskine—

is coming apart at the seams,

tired from all the times I’ve hassled it,

and demanded that its delicate pages

let me have the last word.  

Would you be insulted if I told you I didn’t write about you?

That the pages are not in our romance language?

 Or that your passing brought my recognition?

And it makes me wonder what you’d have to say about me.

Every inch of my notebook a Technicolor atlas of O.C.D.

By date, by subject, by chapter.

Each entry with its own sense of importance.

In bold lettering, no less.

The way to do, the way to be and the way to breathe.

It was all boiled down and categorized by you.

And everything had a meaning.

My thesis has been argued,

the event plan scribbled in a margin

and the case proven.

Surrounded by pens and books on journalism.

Your old phone number on my bulletin board.

And it makes me think of you. 

What Fills The Air by Nicole Barth [1/29/12]

This is another chapter in our paper romance.

I spilled the ink across the page, trying to spell your name.

And it all reminds me of the youthful girl below.

The morning dawn reflected off your skin.

It knew the very heart of us.

And as the hours escaped,

I could feel the differences between our two minds

and all the places they had been.

But I never wanted anything as much

as to fall into the sound of your breathing.

Early in the morning,

the smile that lingered in my eyes

came like rain.

I doubt I could recover.

Our love is wrapped in piano strings.

You are the tide that pulled me in.

A heartbeat in the pages I called home.

My fingers laced with yours. 

An atlas for all the days to come. 

The Photograph [1/25/12]

You painted me on a canvas of indigo confessions.

Your lens found the sun-kissed child in a fleeting glance

as primrose lips and mahogany eyes took form.

A cascade of curls in a suspended moment of time.

Like polished marble.

My strangeness and charm blended together.

And it’s peaceful underneath, in the arms of my ocean.

Our improvised symphony of laughter and open skies.

Nestled between the yellowing pages of a leather journal.

And no river and no lakes can put the fire out.

I’ve found a place to rest my head. 

Untitled Harmony by Nicole Barth [1/10/12]

This is how I compose my love.

Converting lines of dub-step and stomach butterflies into symphony.

An odd mix of ingredients that lead to syncopated inspiration.

The tenth repetition of a song.

I know it all too well.

Like the way your fingers trace my jawline.

The photograph of a moment. 

Your moonlit kisses under an indigo sky.

Followed by a watercolor daydream.

My mind hums the tracks that

you would have listened to

on your van’s broken stereo.

Speechless, with love notes in my hands.  

Your eyes are the ocean that shook me to my core. 

Monday's Rain by Nicole Barth [12/26/11]

Raindrops coated your eyelashes

as you made your way to the navy van.

Lakota’s coffee and tribal chairs were waiting for you.

The light changed.

Three blocks away from your morning routine.

Two ends of the same string.

Hundreds of miles away, but I felt your tug 

as you slammed the van’s door shut.

Grey splatters on an otherwise blank canvas. Bitter cold.

A smirk. You'd had the same thought as me,

as we looked out of our bedroom windows.

Forced out of hibernation.

The shirt I never wore remains folded in my oversized suitcase.

Your detergent clings to its fibers.

My frozen fingers pressed the phone closer to me

as you mentioned your new wool scarf.

A Christmas present from your mother.

Laughing, I told you I had received one as well.

But I’d rather borrow yours.

The wool warm around my neck

as you would wrap your arms around me. 

Close to You by Nicole Barth [12/20/11]

My moon, my man is miles away and this song is out of key.

The raindrops type gibberish against my window.

So take it slow, take it easy on me.

There’s nothing to do but inhale

the musk of an unused room

and get lost in the fabrics of a forgotten closet.

But tonight,

 if I were on the streets,

I would follow you.

I’d pull you around a corner and down the cobblestones in Brescia.

The road barely wide enough for two.

Communicating through telepathy.

We’d be delicate and alone.

The puddles and crumbling houses as witnesses.

A sigh as you squeezed my hand.

Enough to tell you I felt the same way. 

Never Let Me Go by Nicole Barth [12/11/11]

The seaweed of my morning hair lay splayed out in your direction.

Buried under layers of wool and tattered cotton,

polished skin dreamt of your embrace.

Your muffled breathing kept the responsibility of the day at arm’s length.

The static from your arms coursed through me.

It was humming in my veins as I breathed you in.

I was born in a city of flashing lights and discord.

I screamed out love songs from the ends of my fingertips.

And you can call this what you want…

Your song is never ending.

Time cannot lessen the calm in your voice,

the confessions in your lips or the child hiding in your laughter.

I cannot be returned.
So I’ll keep listening to the pulse of this Sunday afternoon.

The heart is hard to translate.  

I’m going to lose my mind between the pages of a journal.

Every gesture recorded in a trail of fascination.