in parentheses

Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review as well as other publications. Most recently, my collection “In Absentia,” was published in August 2021 with Silver Bow Publishing.

F. Poussin has been previously featured on In Parentheses.

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Beyond the flesh

Last night she walked to the dark alcove
secret in the isolation of the fortress
a final journey to which only she is privy.

She pulled the nettings around the bed
laid herself upon the satin cover
soft as the womb of a distant mother.

It was to be the end of her quest
for the understanding of that home
the puzzle her body was yet still.

In a gown of invisible ethers
she closed her eyes and sighed
peace at last she thought in the realm.

Her hands resting near the virgin hips
she breathed softly as her heart slowed
sole sign that she lived below the breast.

She pressed onto the skin as no one had
her fingers penetrated the fibers to the core
where she encountered the spark of origins.

The flesh thus conquered with the passion of her will
in hazy voluptuousness it slowly sublimated
but she will remain safe at home in the cosmos.

When they come at dawn they will find but a trace
A final farewell her body left on the silk
And a broad smile as they hear her gently mock their vain longings.

Memories for Tomorrows

Long ago I kicked the cheap football to the curb
deflated it perished in a current of decayed dreams
yet it seems it lays still near the collapsed barn.

On a tenth birthday we delighted on a first cake
so simple a pleasure it may have cost a treasure
the taste of chocolates slivers hovers on my palate.

Little Mary came to school in a lady’s dress
tugging at something unknow below the ribs
her smile like caramel caresses my lips.

They grew with the time filled glass
names changed but the scents remained
as I learned their passions and their dreams.

It has been one decade too many since I first awoke
I dream many worlds in the depth of the dark
a little more perfect with every passing dawn.

Soon I will persist in infinite slumber
flipping through the catalogue of so many choices
gifted with a life true to intended perfection.

Song of the grave

The stone is barren
it was once broken
slate
now it awaits.

Cold it may seem
yet warm in truth
smooth and perfect
it shines as many stars.

The rock draws
like a magnet
light rains
as so many tears.

Let fall come
and a palette
of colors in oils and pastels
it will glow in the fog.

Winter snow
flakes glitter and blind
forever lasting chagrin
a wonder smooth as granite.

The river runs near
singing it melody
murmur of hope
in eternity renewed.

The sun returns
lighting its fire
life is reborn
on a single tomb.

Strands

Spying the digits perform their familiar dance
he may dream of a tease upon his soul.

They seem to fly in strange arabesques
creating illuminations on the page they graze.

She tells her story with every minute tremor
losing a moment in the brush of her hair.

An apparition in the afterglow of a flash
now present perhaps in another realm.

In contemplation at the mercy of her aura
while she continues to mark eternity, he remains.

The World You See

You have not said a word
sitting in your meditative pose
in front of an ocean so vast.

I wonder what flows into your gaze
you who so much love the unknown
far away beyond the distant horizon.

How do these sights move your heart
as you breathe in the salt of the earth
and fill your body with infinite worlds?

So still you may be a fixture upon a marble stella
I long for the precious moment when
you will exhale to return to me with a sigh.

You may not share what you have become in words
your embrace alone will reveal a truth
you alone have the power to summon.

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