the woman on the bus

 "The Woman on the Bus"

Her hands were small, pruned,
looked clammy, very cold perhaps
with purple seeping up through
her tiny nails.

She twisted the ring on her left third finger
round and round, deftly,
as if she had been doing it for years.
The small diamond awoke in the dim light,
like a beady eye from a dark forest.

What she rethinking everything?

She looked up suddenly,
pulled hard on the brake cord yelling
"Stop!"
and flew out into the night the second the bus
came to a pause.

picture cred

the hunter

"The Hunter"

I heard it
just before my campfire
slowed, oddly calm--
the howl seared my peace
from an unknown distance.

I could see it in the trees;
the nervous leaves shivered,
lost their snow,
perhaps wishing me to flee.

But the howl cut into my ears
and huddled there,
feet scratching,
fur bristling--

I shook my head free
but its breath smothered me,
hot, rank, ripe with zeal.

An angry wind shoved the trees
and jostled the crowd of yelling leaves
urging me, run run
but the howl was all I knew--

Suddenly, I could taste what the howl wanted:
smooth fur and malleable flesh
that falls apart in its captor's teeth;
easy, like biting into a peach,
and I savored the metallic tang of conquest.

photo cred