Milonga

 

Across the room, your eyes hold me to start.
The rhythm pulls you to me and we dance;
quick flicks won’t trip us as legs pass, then part.
Guitars begin the beats of slow romance
emotions grip our bodies, wrap our hearts.
Accordions emboss an air of trance–
We met behind a Buenos Aires street,
an alley dance floor merged with tangos sweet.

© Gay Reiser Cannon

SANDSTORM

Picture courtesy of Rosa Frei for OneShootSunday

Your eyes swerve to avoid distress they’ve known.
I felt that burn once; it taught me
the force of wind and sand that steals
reality and turns a face into the picture of pain.
That day the sandstorm built in the night
so fierce that it stole the sun leaving
only a frightening howl of blowing blackness
that coated every living thing that bent beneath it.
That monster storm howling tornado screams
with its wind force and taunted even the
fin backed cars built of gleaming chrome and steel
with its overwhelming blackness.

For the children the fear clutched at their innards
as their parents shrugged at the monster outside the door.
They served up depression tales with breakfast cereal
and they had no idea how scared their darlings were.
The children didn’t understand how many times
their parents had to shake their fears in the face of monsters.
This didn’t compare to Hitler. A 50s child had no marker.
This was the worst thing in nature they’d ever seen
and every child who lived through that day
remembers it as though it were yesterday

© Gay Reiser Cannon * 5.1.2011 * All Rights Reserved