THE PIANO AT UNION STATION

 

THE PIANO AT UNION STATION
In L.A.’s Union Station
amidst the haunted
leather
Art Deco chairs
stands a piano
When I wait for
trains
I wait there
Unknown Geniuses
and Anonymous Songwriters
Hipsters
with their hipster hats
Tin Pan Alley has beens
Down and Outers
Up and Comers
None
can resist
its Blessing
Waiting for trains
in Union Station
is Religious.
The Piano
hears
our confessions
and forgives us.
Kathy Keogh

 

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HOW TO FIX A BROKEN HEART.
I know you’ll deny it
but I watched you
knock it off its pedestal
Now my heart
lay in pieces on the ground
I’m not shocked
to find yours
intact
a scuff mark maybe
Mine broke its fall
You get a broom and dust pan
and begin sweeping up the rubble
“WAIT!”
comes from the part of my chest
that holds deep guttural sounds
I think the Irish call it keening.
“I can put it back together”
You pretend to tie your shoe

and pick up a small piece of my heart
and slip it in your pocket
I google “How to fix a broken heart”
A Bee Gees song comes up
and a lot of nonsense about “time”
gathering up my shattered heart
I lay them on the table
Like pieces of a puzzle
I put them where they belong
As I fit the top right piece to the right side
a tear falls

and like glue fuses it
After many tears and “time”
my heart is almost whole
Perhaps someday
you’ll come back
and give me the piece
you took
Kathy Keogh.

 

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CEMETERY LIFE

CEMETERY LIFE
I live my life in cemeteries
names and dates- cold grave stone
A wilted rose, a ribbon fades
Here I kneel on my own

I live my life in cemeteries
candles burn and shadows thrown
Pinwheels spinning in the wind
Six feet above a box of bone

I live my life in cemeteries
For yesterday I must atone
All my days lived in the past
a forlorn cry, a mournful moan

I live my life in cemeteries
thinking of the time that’s flown
But there are no spirits around
The ghosts have left me here alone.
Kathy Keogh

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CLUTTER

CLUTTER

We live cluttered lives

in jars and boxes

as we make our way through

memories tied in yellow ribbons

others burnt and crumpled

swept into dark corners.

We live cluttered lives

of voices and noise

straining to hear forgotten lyrics

to a song we once danced to

when dancing was easy.

We live cluttered lives

of score cards and horoscopes

newspaper obituaries cut out

and placed near candles

on an unread Waldon Pond

We live cluttered lives

We live cluttered lives

We live cluttered.

Kathy Keogh

 

 

 

 

 

 

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SCENT MEMORY

SCENT MEMORY
The scent of sweet peas through an open window
or when I put cocoa butter on
A watercolor sunset in the summer
on a beach at Rincon
A dozen red and yellow roses
because I’m your lover and your friend
The smell of bacon in the morning
I sleep in every weekend
All these triggers all these scents
some are heaven, some are hell
I love the smell of leather
but I hate that hospital smell.
Kathy Keogh

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SHE IS GRAY

SHE IS GRAY
She was always monotone
gray
slate
gainsboro
When she is near
I feel the need
of a shawl
My vibrant colors
startle her
So she retreats
She has asked me
to hide
my reds
my greens
my blues
But I can not.
I accept her
overcast eyes
but she
cannot accept
my green eyes
squinting from the sun.
Kathy Keogh.

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SHARDS

Love, 20 years long, waning.
Love, golden rings wearing thin.
“A whore in the sheets.” that’s what he said he wanted.
He’d spit and say, “But you’re too Catholic.”

He made love to mirrors like Narcissi
Bathroom mirrors, vanity mirrors, rear view mirrors.
I used to wait for him to fall in
and slit his throat on shards of silvered glass
.
I should have pushed him but I was too Catholic.
This golden ring tightens. I lick my finger and pull it off.
I hear it jingle and roll as it hits the ground.
I don’t look back.
Kathy Keogh.

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