Ghazal (left behind)
Poetry by Lisa Cheby
Peeling apples meticulously, each skin intact, left behind.
Except for the seeds, you devoured the cores, not even extract left behind.
The turtle knows patience. Her movement unheard in whirls of chaos.
She emerges with stillness, the ebb of the Pacific: left behind.
Apu smoked as he etched an edelweiss in delicate slivers of silver;
Now, just a wisp of him is, by cancer in his intestinal tract, left behind.
Hangnails bloodied by puke green hanging files and ragged time cards.
Ch-cht, check in. Ch-cht, check out. Boss says, “don’t come back.” Left behind.
I wait in the maroon lazy-boy surrounded by the TV remote, clipped
articles of inspiration, a glass of tea: my mother’s artifacts, left behind.
Teens lollygag through the halls. The weight of undecipherable, state-approved
tomes against poverty and apathy, which none of them lack, are left behind.
I drive, burnt by sun. A wall of rain approaches. Opposites attract.
Collision course. I don’t stop. I feel its impact. Left behind.
A lychee nut is not what it seems. A scaly exterior hides luscious fruit. Peel
the skin to taste its sweet soft meat. Nothing is, as the tongue retracts, left behind.
Lisa Cheby devises ways to spend as much time as possible writing, practicing yoga and salsa dancing while completing her MFA at Antioch University. She experiments with form and free verse and with red wine and coffee as writing tools.
[...] in a nutshell — now, go and read it. “Reading is writing,” Splinter contributor Lisa Cheby observed recently. She learned it from her mentor, Douglas Kearney. It’s worth passing on. [...]