Magic Named Me
How much pain can one life hold?
Can it be shaped to the size of the vessel?
(a thimble, a cup, the world?)
No.
The vessel takes the shape of the pain,
filling slowly to the rim:
I am an ocean.
I am dust.
I am the air.
I am the unquenchable fire,
Beating to the tender thrill of this spear in my heart,
twisting and twisting,
the voice of its singing a song beyond words.
There is no release.
Oh, never release me!
To Name is to make real:
A magic that brings you from the everywhere into the here.
I would have named an ocean for your eyes,
the moist secret mouth of all rivers for your lips,
the rising lift of all wings for the beating of your heart,
the intimate swaying dance of bare limbed trees for your grace,
Discovering you from the world with the truth:
Everywhere, you are everywhere in me.
I would have been your Adam:
carefully teaching lips and tongue the language of your kiss....
The sound that your name made in my mouth a sigh that rose
straight from my heart:
A name for the world.
As your magic named me.
As your words made me real.
As your love gave me life.
As this pain now names me in this dark underworld: Alone.
----By S.K. Dapoz
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Morning
His eyes:
the color
of consciousness
--S.K. Dapoz
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Freedom
To be held,
just once,
warm
against
a woman's breast:
yes....
the kindling
of candles
in the
land of release.
--S.K. Dapoz
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Threshold
Bright terror rising in his throat,
the light collapsed to black
until something inside started to heal...
or he tilted over into madness at last.
His throat screamed out, voice only a sore whisper,
still, his tone made her flinch....
but his whisper was far away and forlorn,
lost in darkness.
His eyes shone with a heart-wrenching
combination of fright and defiance
mixed with a refusal to be cowed.
He kept the weight of this abandonment
to himself.
Who could he tell that he felt abandoned --
punished?
"Please....hold me. Just hold me."
--S.K. Dapoz
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The Mirror
A gift arrived in my chamber, sweet,
as unexpectedly as your love,
and I could not quite believe it.
Happily guessing at possibilities,
I ran slow hands over the smooth cover
and felt the hard oval shape beneath my fingertips.
At last unable (deliciously) to wait longer,
I whisked the concealment off
and turned to view my fate:
a mirror.
I held my breath and stepped before
its silvered space
and saw that I was beautiful...
so beautiful...
because I saw your face.
--S.K. Dapoz
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Tomorrow
Will I ever
strike a spark
and not have it
become your candle....
the flame hot before my eyes...
the smell of smoke and melting wax trapped in your cloak,
Light flowing through the golden window that is your sun...
your eyes calling me back
for a brief hour together...
when always, always, the spark flares out in some unseen, unkind
wind
and time passes on again.
When will tomorrow come?
---S.K. Dapoz
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The Arrow
Raven dark
and red
with pounding walls,
this city's halls are sealed...
echoing with spinning spirals of bruising memory,
raw wounds that are unbearably revealed.....
yet, up and up
the arrow flies
propelled by sighs.....
You are alone
in this dark prison,
calling and calling,
All reason magnified by the sweep of the clock.
Sadness lies in truth enshrined:
you are not locked in.
I am locked out.
Open.
Please Open.
---S.K. Dapoz
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Phoenix
We beat our wings 'til the feathers drop,
yet there are deaths and dreams
conjured by a heart in exile:
Suspended in that lingering moment,
you are my liminal dream....
your dark world my stage,
your eyes my isolation,
the hunger of your frozen grief
the fire that burns on my brow,
urging me onward....
the sword of your pain
is the siren song
that bows my neck, gladly,
on the altar of your need.
Then, swift and star-like, the world collapses,
exploding into flames that burn to sudden ash....
and I breathe this sweet death as it vanishes into new life,
embracing the incandescent phoenix....
you.
---S.K. Dapoz
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"I dreamed of him again last night...."
In dreams, I begged to see your face...
fathomless and fair,
but your eyes were blinded by nightmares,
the compass of your hunger bleeding you towards the dawn,
alone, uncomforted and cold in your dark cocoon of grief.
Awake, I longed to feel your touch...
possessive and promising,
but your arms were filled with a ghost,
the lodestone of your hope a warm, dark kiss,
the child, and your anger.
Ah, but don't you see,
You are the question and I, the answer......
I imagined you:
I knew you were real
and I found you.
I hunted you:
I knew you were real
and I found you.
I saw you:
I knew you were real
and I found you.
I touched you:
I knew you were real
and I found you.
---S.K. Dapoz
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Blind Man's Bluff
You are a blindfolded walk in the dark
on a cold and twisting path.
I track you alone,
sightless,
as wind spirits in the maze
finger my clothes, tug at my hair,
push me away and pull me in close
to kiss me then flee
and the rough, wet rocks bruise my body...
Because I have wished with all my heart
to follow you
as you move away from me,
swallowed up in the rushing dark,
I play the game.
Because your pain is somehow my pain,
I do not cheat and peek at what lies beyond.
I play the game.
There is no other choice:
It is possible to play this darkling ring-toss
because you are possible.
But the game will stop when I find you
and I know that you are near.
I will become a piece of something bigger
revealed by your touch in the dark...
and perhaps you will guess
that I am an elephant's tail
or a rope that can pull you up
out of the pit
and into the daylight at last,
home free.
---S.K. Dapoz
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Fortress
The hidden city is silent now.
He fights no wars.
He goes no more to war,
wrapped in a warrior's red rage,
mind divided
between the song and the blood...
the sweet, high song of death
pulling him down the road of no return,
no knife in the boot
for the soft sound in the night,
no sleeping on the brittle edge of exhausted awareness,
tensed against the ambush
that must come,
yet does not come and does not come.
He fights no wars.
He goes no more to war.
Whose tears are these?
--S.K. Dapoz
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Prey
The hunter moves with slow predatory grace
taking the fields and the hills without thought:
a birthright born in the blood
that is swifter than choice or hope,
more real to the hand than words.
Prey is the sweet slice of life
that drifts ahead on the wind,
casting back the hot scent of feathers
calling the hunter forth from the brave darkness
into the stunning moonlight:
a midnight feast for one.
In this way, my secret dreams take you,
. . . but sometimes I am the prey,
and you the heartfelt hunter.
--S.K. Dapoz
About the Author
S. K. Dapoz has been writing poetry and nonfiction for twenty-five years. Beauty and the Beast has been her first foray into fiction. She has written and edited several fanzines, including the Queen's Knight series, and "All Things are Possible with Love," rated a four in the Q-fer. She owns a small desktop publishing company, Purple Rose Press, and publishes a yearly poetry anthology composed of poetry by Baha'is, as well as poetry chapbooks by established writers. Purple Rose Press also accepts freelance graphics and editing assignments. She is also a software specialist at the Indiana University School of Business in Indianapolis. For information about 'zines or freelance desktop/graphic or publishing rates, SASE to: S. K. Dapoz, 815 N. Broadway, Greenfield, IN 46140, or email: SDAPOZ@INDYVAX.IUPUI.EDU