our
pleasant
black
faces
are pressed together
under a veil
of chalky peach
that drapes over your sleeping spine
and my
shivering shoulders
to protect us
from open air
and honesty—
Every day we dress
like dolls
with cherry cheeks
and nodding heads
because you are a daisy
and I am a tulip
and we
live only
to be
seen
“The Female Gaze” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse
Artwork: Spectrum by Lucille Malkia Roberts
woman i was
am
will be
sleeps settled
in the river’s cool bed
to escape the frenzied burn in
her
mine
our
aching unhinged head
“Ophelia” by Meaghan Merrifield
unraveled hours
languidly dwindle and dim with the lengthening of the day
twilight loses its luster
dusk impatient
departs before dawn
yet in hours ignored
dark swells in innocent admiration
still enchanted by far off forms ablaze
the scent of summer slumber whispers in the wind
so when days are done
the old enduring earth
attempts again to become something new
“Almost New” by Meaghan Merrifield
jaws heavy with swollen tongues
fall into smiles of stupor
heat flushes faces into blurry blends
yet the rubies violets peaches and maroons
settle and inevitably cool
teal is well suited to time
in it’s watery wisdom
and the end
gracious and refined
reflects fondly on
the beauty of the blend
“Beauty in Blend” by Meaghan Merrifield
Artwork by Charles Wilkin
This is the way she painted me
with
sloppy brushstrokes
of indigo
and cloudy-white.
—- messy holes
that spread
and leak
into
marbled splatters of nose and eyelid.
It looks nothing like me
but
when I touch her,
I can feel it
sweating into the pores behind my eyelashes–
staining my sight
like the horror of a bloody
ghost.
“The Way She Painted Me” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse
Artwork: No Sudden Movement by Nina Schroeder
a frame
fearless and fragile
with skin that skates
until it settles
into a creamy repose
houses little lungs
which
suck
the dust of dusk
under the mustard moon
“Mustard Moon” by Meaghan Merrifield
those gobs
of greenish muck
that slide off your tongue
in petty,
privileged,
lumps,
make me yearn for
the sight of humiliation and
soupy mutilation
“Stop Talking” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse
Artwork: I got Your Back by Keith P Rein
I’m so tired
of spitting up pinkish chuckles
and periwinkle grins
for the sake of polite
conversation and
I am so tired of
those blunted, whispering pains
just above my belly button-
where acid has swallowed my
parties
and my
friends
and my
life -as it was-
And I’m so tired
of leaving this room and walking out
into a world where there is too much sunlight
because Iamsotired and
I just want
to
rest.
“So Tired” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse
Artwork: Tired by Nina Schroeder
The Show Tell Project 