Poems by Jillian

Grey and green with flecks of your face
Where I smashed my last memory
In his false honour
A thousand flesh coloured bits.
Could have described some things
And you in particular
As my memories of you wane -
Although still angered by the fact
That he refers to you as the stupid dyke.
As I foolishly f**k myself into amnesia
I write things like
"Fingers into the hollows of his face "
liquid light chasing the shadows made by his strong and deep set eyes
immersed in water
his hair floating between curious fingers
hardly long enough to reach mid brow
the visage broken by a sudden spurt of bubbles...
hoping my pen moves me to love him
words soothing the raw jagged pain of you
the deep down dark desires
I have no true metaphors for his face
No false front to hide my wandering eyes
As I follow your movement in the hallway in front of me
I have no desire for something I can't rationalize
And no delicate way of telling him this.

The gravel crunches underfoot
and fences on either side rise and warp
with the waning heat of the night
in a heartbeat
i change my mind
and then back again
a heartbeat
a reminder of life
and love
it used to march unsteady
stuttering her name
in a palpitation not unlike
the murmur they thought i had when i was five
a murmur of feelings unrecognized
it keeps the time
the rhythm of my life
and dare i say
beats monotonous in your presence
for it cannot know your name
no breathless flutter
no memory invoked
and no matter how hard i try
your skin is still not as tender to the touch.



Through vain and pitted walls
she calls
From the other side of the planet 

Through a messenger
I hear
Her voice
Crackle and drag
My fragile happiness 

Comfortable ˆ curled
near forgetfulness 

Back into overheated night
And narrow halls
Lit only by my false impressions 

And I can feel her breath
On my ear once again

- Fahrenheit-

Yet words before open windows
Do not ring true
In boisterous linoleum hallways
Numb kisses
Like black vines nearly forgotten
Drape over my
Brilliant escape
My new and dauntless day

Retreating into the sea of blackened memory
Where the tide is out
Most of the time
My dry land is left to crackle and burn 

She traced in sand -- cement sentiment formed

And meanwhile, ankle deep in new waters
I find myself between two oceans 

And don't tell me you don‚t care
Because I do
It hangs doggedly in the air between us
Turbulence fueled by a telephone ringing 



and I will never tell him that sometimes
I forget his face
For eventually
His patience will wear thin
Balancing my rigidity
My anger 

And while the sky grows darker
Beyond the sliding doors
I realize
There will always be three of us
And I can give you no assurance
Beyond an embrace
For my heart is elsewhere.

©1998 Oasis Magazine. All Rights Reserved.