Monday, March 1, 2021

Women's History Month: Monday, March 1, 2021 "Two Poems by Cynthia Linville"

 




Pentecost


“We contain the other, hopelessly and forever.”

—James Baldwin


In the end, it doesn’t really matter

who loved who more

Loneliness is a siren

that keeps drawing us back


Perhaps we are the lucky ones

blazed by the redemptive power of

accidental truths –

smokey orange and blistering


           * * *

The blisters and smoke don’t really matter

The fire calls us back


Redemption

is lit by our own match


We’re lucky –

we haven’t lost that fire


we haven’t forgotten what it feels like

to be blazed by love


           * * *


Love itself is redemptive

is a spark that ignites


We blaze our own truth

our own luck


In the end, it’s all

smokey flames and blisters


© 2021 Cynthia Linville



Regret—


The weight of it in your fingers

unpolished, but alive

coldest just before sunrise


Its liquid voice

chanting you into

the center of

your hollow labyrinth


Chances you squandered like rain

slippery, without edges

echo and echo and echo


*  * *

Persistent voices echo

from the center of your labyrinth

chanting squandered chances

like falling rain


Slippery

unpolished, but alive

the liquid weight

falls through your fingers


Always coldest just before sunrise


*  * *

Cold sunrise edges sharply

cutting the labyrinthine chants

soothing your voice

into liquid

polishing you

softly

into life


Drops of light

pool

in your cupped hands

echoing away the night


© 2021 Cynthia Linville




Cynthia Linville is a poet and photographer who collaborates with musicians. She was managing editor of Convergence: an online journal of poetry and art for ten years, and her two books of collected poems, The Lost Thing and Out of Reach, are available from Cold River Press. Visit her website at CynthiaLinville.com


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