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two poems by Lisa Zaran

Remonstrations

I no longer believe in love
therefore
love has to
believe in me.

I cling to my loneliness
like a shawl over
my shoulders,
I bear no witness
hold no grudge
heal no past and
wasteful argument.

If the night is gray
that is only because
the morning is long dead.
I do not mourn for it.
I stand on a thin line
between inertia
and capability.
I do not care

what manners one wears
or walks upon or brings
to city and state officials
or changes into law
or vetoes just because
of ignorance or blithe
disregard.

I do not care
because I’m thoughtless.
I do not want
because my needs have
sunk deeper and deeper
and have become smaller
and smaller over the years.
My heart plays a doomsday harp.

When I sit, I slouch on chairs
like any decent girl should.
My dreams stammer,
my hope rattles like a cough
trapped in the lung.
Perhaps tomorrow love
will find me.
Either way, there’ll be no
outburst from.

I dress love down.
Suppose I’m a radical.

Cornerstoned

It’s the end
according to the Spanish version
of the national enquirer.

A picture of His face had been transmuted into
something almost unrecognizable.
As if His final resting place was somewhere
you and I walked, over and over again
in heels.

A place we tossed our cigarette butts.

Some things can never be buried,
Some things will never change.
Night after night,
I’m still cold.

Though I spend each day hopeful
with questions, the night creeps in
to take my youth away in increments.

By morning I find myself gripping the handrail,
searching for my lost wheelchair.