"Heavy Meds"

My mother called yesterday with a tone in her voice that zip-lined me back 20 years to the time before her first brain surgery when heavy meds stole her smile, blanked her face, left her drooling on herself in the dark. Heavy meds forced Johnny Mathis to repeat “Chances Are” to try and ease her pain, made her forget how to write her name, had her burning pots of water on the stove, made her cry like a child at shadows. Part of me froze up on the other end of the line trying to find the right words to tell her I understood without placating false hopes about the darkness creeping up behind her. Aleathia Drehmer 2007

"Subhuman"

I had not seen Dick Clark on TV since his stroke, and frankly, I had not thought much of him until this New Year’s Eve night. Flipping through the stations sitting on my couch and drinking red wine, we came upon the face of Dick Clark with the voice of someone subhuman. Though he looked the same, the sound of his voice was creeping me out in some strange way that I cannot explain. My husband thought it funny and kept switching back to him to watch me squirm, to watch Dick fumble with his words as the wine and cheese kept rising up the back of my throat. Aleathia Drehmer 2007 Published by Zygote in My Coffee Print Issue 3

"Pure Reason"

Cricket is missing his four front teeth, two on the top and two on the bottom. This name given to him for the uncanny ability to make sounds like an insect. His real name is Pete. In front of the Safeway, greeting shoppers and engaging them with intelligent conversation, his paper cup fills easily and quickly full of coins and bills never begged for. He reads thick books by great philosophers, and we have debates on the street about Transcendental idealism while people sidestep us to keep their pristine white bags from getting tangled in our metaphysical storm of words. Aleathia Drehmer 2006 Published by Word Riot 6/07

"Countenance"

The Haitian is always smiling, gliding generic canned goods over the scanner with the expanse of his solid obsidian right hand. Blips march out unevenly down the line of registers, the noise consistently inconsistent until the drone of it is musical. He stands in the express lane closest to the door. He is never at another register, and I find myself putting back cans of peas and boxes of cereal to qualify getting into his line. His left arm ends at the wrist, five tiny nubs protrude like creamy, pink baby toes that have no strength or purpose, and it is this that draws me in. Jittering in my skin, needing to ask him the question, I am caught staring at the absence of a hand as I sheepishly fumble with my wallet having broke the countenance of his smile. Aleathia Drehmer 2007 Published by Juice 6/07

"Short Window of Time"

Two days of rain heavy clouds, and misery perched over the land, transient slips of gray now in a slow building grace, hills fuller, more verdant than I remembered. Two days feels an eternity watching the sun kiss through pillows of textured white, onto curves colliding in degrees of angle forming the valley of my home, slopes that tuck me in at night, that greet my smile at sunrise. I am reborn into spring through this short window of time, when lilacs release clean invigorated scents, and lilies of the valley unfurl bowed pristine bells in prayer, nestled in deep green leaves, a bunting for tender children sleeping. I am caught here, trapped in a moment that finds me each year among the tendrils, the stopped time of childhood dreams. Aleathia Drehmer 2007 Published by Brave Little Poem of the Day 6/07

"Grit"

Streets teem with water, and melting hail, the leftovers from a squall. I let my arm dangle out the window onto hot metal of assembly line steel. The sharpness of rain laden air slips over my burning skin, street water splashing upward as cars pass too closely. I wear the grit of summer construction between my fingers, relishing the feeling of filth wedged in creases, while watching perfect white beanstalks fracture the sky with light. Aleathia Drehmer 2007

"Limestone"

for Mathias He would like to think himself made of marble or granite, something that withstands the lashings of society, but I see he is built of limestone, penetrated easily with lacerations, deep and superficial, some worn like badges of honor drawing attention from those that gape open and bleed showing the tenderness of his essence. It is this chink in his armored facade that causes him to push my outstretched hand away to keep from making it real. Aleathia Drehmer 2007

"Electra"

She has tattooed the names of all her lovers on various lines of her body, the most important conquests highly visible, banners of her victory, no secrets to be kept. It settles over me strangely and deeply that the tender spot of her neck below the ear, the coveted place a lover might stop to steal a kiss as he traverses his way to bigger and better things is inked crisply with the letters of her father’s name. Aleathia Drehmer 2007 Upcoming Publication in Zygote in My Coffee Print #4

"Joyride"

He smells of coffee and cigarettes as he grips the steering wheel, one handed stiff armed, driving 80mph down the empty four-lane. Windows rolled all the way down, my hair a whirling dervish in shuttered light of overhead lamps. Our faces small pages of a flip-book as our laughter dances around long silences. His desire to touch me, kiss me evident in the way he leans into me around the sharp curves of the highway; In the casual way he misses my exit and smiles from the side of his mouth. I let him close enough to feel the heat of his skin sweltering above the oppression of this southern night, close enough to keep him coming back for parts of me he can never have. Aleathia Drehmer 2007 Published by Amarillo Bay 2/08

"Sluices"

It is decided you must be my muse, a pliable combination of two of the nine daughters of Zeus, Erato Melpomene, for the sight of your face contrives tragedy wrapped in a delicate sheath of sensuality, it's voiceless song needling into my ears, smoke curling through the sluices of my brain, a toxic vapor of creativity that chokes hold of me before I can even realize it is done. Aleathia Drehmer 2007

"Rivalry"

I was allowed to sleep in this morning, awaking to soft sunshine, silence. I stretched out like a cat trying to move the dreams from deep in my muscles. Your words lingering still, haloed loosely around my ears, a touch gold, a slight of hand that rivals Midas for every pound he was worth. Aleathia Drehmer 2007

"Mole"

I like that it is my fate to haphazardly stumble upon your poems, never directed in a proper fashion, always groping in the air a mole coming to the surface to discover one more facet to your multiplicable personality. Aleathia Drehmer 2007

"Fly Away"

The old road is barren in early morning, the friction of tires on the pavement making visceral noises. Mist raises its arms to meet a dense, hovering fog making love to wiry, green tendrils of kudzu, both laughing at the world, strangling underbrush and trees post coitus. A centrifugal sound escapes the spokes of my white bicycle, I am a ghost speeding down the slope, curved like a woman’s lips, soft and dangerous standing on the pedals at break neck speed. Dew invigorated with magnolia, wrapped in honeysuckle, hits my face delicate as soap bubbles releasing the nectar onto my skin and I fly away. Aleathia Drehmer 2007

"Fissures"

I am an automaton in the future of my life, driving in blinding darkness with half-closed lids. This road a cracked tongue fissures like infinite gaps in the earth, its’ moist, dark tunnel ripe with rot. A river of sticky, blue saliva drips from the ruggulated palate onto the windshield, a prickly heat surrounding me as a fetid breath at my back pushes me into the light. Aleathia Drehmer 2007

"The Remains of Men"

Sitting in the high grass of a meadow, once a battlefield saturated with blood of young men, fighting for pride and boundaries, bodies crossed, stacked like twigs for a fire. The remains of men adhere to my hands as I clap two sticks together, gathered from this graveyard, creating ragged tunes making syncopated beats soft harmonic voices lifting into the summer heat. Aleathia Drehmer 2007 Upcoming Publication by The Cerebral Catalyst

"Take"

I am folded into this neat circle of newly adopted friends of friends. Innocently, they lend acceptance into my hands that I will surely take for granted. Aleathia Drehmer 2007 Published by Gloom Cupboard (online #16) 1/08

"Perfect Eggs"

I breakfasted in a diner where the waitresses know the names of every war veteran that sets to chow and they have intertwined themselves into the fabric of their history. On a simple white plate, I am served the most perfect eggs I have eaten in years, two slabs of thick, rye toast with enough butter to negate my workout from the night before, coffee hot and strong with enough depth to cure my tiredness. This is savored amidst the mingling of laughter from old women at the jocular conversations between their husbands, silverware clanging, tips in aprons sounding wealthy as change is muffled by folded dollar bills. Middle aged women shouting orders, greetings, and questions of accommodation hit me pleasingly as it has been some time since I settled into a barstool alone to write listening to the sounds of my childhood, my heart clattering with the silver, wishing I still lived with the responsibility of saving conversations instead of saving lives. Aleathia Drehmer 2007

"Apathy"

Words form a labyrinth encircling my head trapped in mid-air by the thick heat collected in my car while I was sleeping. This road is straight, a fine country stretch trees reaching out to me green budded fingers a temptation for dreaming, bugs kamikaze on the windshield, on the grill reminds me of all the death I witness daily. Coltrane splits the hairs of my inner ear, sweet chaotic melodies elevating my brain's chemical levels above the tidal line, traveling the opposite direction through the maze around my head. I am oblivious to the world, apathetic to its' dangers. Aleathia Drehmer 2007

"Collision"

Sitting with book in hand, careened forward as my mind diverges out the open window, elevated into the same biting wind that turns nail beds blue and ripples my skin. I sense your phantom hands upon my mouth, an invisible collision of energy paralyzing me in my already transient state, knees strapping me down to the chair. The weight of you evident, suffocating me in primal pleasure until I must laugh at my illusion, your delusion of grandeur. Aleathia Drehmer 2007 Published by Hecale 7/07

"What I Have to Offer"

This wet stain hovering above the stripes on the sheets, cool to my fleshy thigh, reminds me that I can still illicit a reaction from you, that what I have to offer still excites, still drives your sex to rise against the coup of domestication. Aleathia Drehmer 2007