My Marriage Moves as If

Love were cycles,
It meshes like gears.
Like two lovers seeking hand holds
In each other’s rock face.
Like reverse figures
Climbing opposite ends
Away from and towards each other.
Let us all dive
Into that symbol
That chases itself.

*

For the Moment We Have Let Go

Of each other’s throats
and give the blood
time to dry.

We are on vacation.
I haven’t had this bad a car ride
since our near divorce
fifteen years ago.

There were children in the back seat then
scarred for life.
I don’t remember which ones.
Now we are alone, further down the road,
and deeper into each other’s
weaknesses.

The holiday is something we slaughter
on a butcher block
some sort of barbecue cannibalism
meant to cure what’s
wrong with us.

What’s wrong with us
may be us.
In any combination.

We are so blind with rage
that we cannot see if we
are at the point of saying this
or meaning it.

Slowly, a moment is birthed
where I can let the rope slack some
and it is felt
at the noose end.
She slides her dagger
half way out.

We let the silence
speak of us for a while.
It might be a form of
answer.

Later, I will christen new hope for us
by saying we
have to work harder
at something better.

*

Mark Kessinger was born in Huntington WV, attended college at Cleveland State University, lived in Oklahoma City and now resides in Houston TX. He is a two-year recipient of a creative writing scholarship from CSU, a founding member and president of the Houston Council of Writers, and former editor of Voices from Big Thicket. The author of two volumes of poetry, Exploded View and Book of Joe. His poetry has appeared in many publications and four anthologies. TheKessinger.com