jessicacolleenmcdermott

Poetry/Creative non-fiction/fiction

House Recital in Logan, Utah December 12, 2012

Filed under: Poetry — jessicacolleenmcdermott @ 7:18 am
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That room must still exist, behind a white door,

a wood floored parlor with French doors that open

into a piano room.

 

In the corner, three bottles of opened Merlot, a plate with

sliced carrots and broccoli next to a saucer of hummus

and a pot of warm cider.

 

On your cheek, a flicker of candle light. Me on your lap,

my fingers tracing up and down your arm.

 

The hum of Debussy’s L’isle Joyeuse. The other guests

mere outlines like ghosts.

 

That 1870s house with the golden etched wallpaper and lazy

crystal chandlers. It hasn’t dissolved back into reality. Back

into nothing.

 

The rustle of programs floating onto laps and the clap of hands.

The young performer’s bow- he would be past thirty by now.

 

A black scarf looped loose around your neck, dark rushes of curly

hair down to your shoulders.

 

The smell of fire, white paned window heavy with fallen snow.

 

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Dreaming a Mother to Life

Filed under: Poetry — jessicacolleenmcdermott @ 7:16 am
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Once I dreamt a child in a striped shirt was left on my doorstep.

I cradled her all night, swayed in the brown recliner you

 

folded laundry in, while I slept upstairs.

Her body warm in my arms, head carved against my chest,

 

her dark hair a curly bob sliced straight at her chin. Like

my hair at six. The scent of ammonia after two perms- our hair

only different in color.

 

It is the only place I see you beyond gray stone. Beyond an engraved

name, the outline gone black with time- a repeated

 

dream. Your body wrapped in a green nightgown, the soft creek of

a swaying chair, the stroke of hands soothing fabric still hot with

dryer’s breath.

 

Warmth

Filed under: Poetry — jessicacolleenmcdermott @ 7:14 am
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Winter mornings are silent- noises smothered liked packed snow.

I stay wrapped up in bed long after I wake.

I dream of retraced kisses from the nook of your ear down to your collarbone.

 

My pulsing heart a mountain stream, a soft hum of water spilling over moss topped rocks.

Our breath puffs like glowing smoke under a full moon. You unbutton your coat

and pull my hands inside. I feel your skin breathe beneath a tight t-shirt.

 

You kiss my mouth, sucking my bottom lip until you’re sitting on the

hood of my car. The metal is like ice. A thin layer of frost hugs the back window.

I imagine never getting up. Spending the entire day under five blankets.

 

Never waking to the reality of what went cold between us. Of the weight that comes

from not knowing how to kill a dead thing.

 

The pounds it stacks onto our tight smiles.

 

My right hand curled rigid atop my pillow, below my cheek. You stay asleep like stone.

Your naked body only heat beside my own.

 

Your arms tie around me, eyes still shut. I drop my head to your chest and strain to

read heartbeats stuck snug under the cotton of my limp quilt.