3 poems by Cynthia Bargar

Add Water by Katherine Minott
Add Water by Katherine Minott

My Two Centuries

                                                            First Century

Lady sits on her stool, paws
through photographs of human eyes

to see the map of my mind,
name we shared buried in a hatbox.

Visit that sinking house.
Be suspect. Look opposite.

                                                            Second Century

To create the earth, live in the dust,
meander a sleeping century:
wind-polished nubs, rough mortar bulging.

Dear life, cheap life—bag of breadcrumbs—
in my pocket tight underground.
My fingers tugging at buttons,

I ask my body to uncover
the imprint: skin on fire, the hair,
the habit, stones etched by lightning.


Red Line

These two slump & burrow,
wrap wisteria vine legs
at the knees. Underground
girlfriend bruised blue,
her man chipped teeth,
grimaced oblivion.

If this is love
all nod, haze & huddle,
are they paired for life
like Mute Swans,
pen & cob, tails upended,
lunching below?

If this is love
what to make of us?

I dart & trumpet,
fearing fog & silence,
you amble,
sometimes mute.
 
 
We Have Been Here Before

Or somewhere like this — infirm small animals,
stringless guitars, Pacific beachfront backdrop.

Unsoothed by the familiar, undone by the strange,
we wait for them to arrive, broken-legged bridge tables bungeed to their backs.

At Breeze & Speedway where beauty & heartbreak collide,
poets, singers & sellers meet the sun.

Unknown to us & unseen,
the young girl who left too soon.

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