The beach

The sounds of the world

undulate like the waves of the ocean.

White birds circle above my head.

I smell the sea;

I feel it between my toes.

The sand's stuck to my feet.

A breeze carries the music

of children's laughter.

Boys, shirtless, barefoot,

preen for girls with bare bellies,

tattoos and tan lines...

Ah, to be young again!

©  2012 Helena Malheur

Delusions

I live in a world of delusions and artistry,
where every work is an interpretation
of my imagination.
And my imagination has no bounds;
It neither has a beginning nor an end.

He is the vision, a reality based diversion --
nameless, faceless, voiceless --
and exists only to feed the scenarios
invented to accommodate this work,
this piece of dynamic art based on delusion
and imagination. And yet, I feel nothing.

There is a world which knows nothing
of the freedom imagination affords;
I refuse to live there. Still,
I want the fortitude to live among the brave
who dare to love freely and exclusively so.

As an answer to my wish,
I discovered that I am a part of that world.
After all, I feel something real, something tangible --
the tightening chest, the quickening breath --.
it isn't a delusion; it is real as he has become real.

He even have a name, a face, a voice;
and I hear every word he speaks
as if these were words I heard for the first time.
But if he asked, I will categorically deny I love him,
because I fear my heart will be broken
before our affair has begun.

©  2012 Helena Malheur

Freedom

You must know that we will end sometime.

For me, sometime will come too soon.

It interrupts my dreams,

shakes me awake in the middle of the night.

It is raining now. I feel the rain falling on my hair

and I remember how much you love the rain.

So, I dance in the grass, bare footed like a child,

and I wait for you to come back and take me inside.

I wish to sink inside the curves of your arms,

watch your eyes stare mine still and

feel our thirsty breaths become quenched.

And for a moment, I want to fall in love with you.

Instead, I'll find myself sinking deeper into reality 
like a boulder sinks in the sea.

and your breath will become colder,

your eyes won't hold my gaze and I'll pull away;

fear itself trembles inside my chest

at the thought of falling in love with you.

I wish I could let go, just for a moment,

so I can recall the freedom of feeling everything.

But I've learned that feelings open new wounds 
like burrowing a hole in the pit of my gut;

I neither have the will nor the energy 
to forget another once more.  

Could it be that I am already there?

Am I in love with you and I don’t know it?

I belong to no one and no one belongs to me;

It is the only truth I know and there is freedom in that too.  

© 2012 Helena Malheur 

The Shattered Vase

You collected wild flowers,

rested them on my head like a crown;

I was your queen.

The rest, you rearranged over my heart --

the meeting place

of bees, lovers and butterflies.

We were the envy of strangers.

Like a Monet, distance was our ally.

They glanced at us,

they wanted to look closer but

we kept moving

further and further away from them

because that was how we were meant to be seen.

You see that glamorous frame?

It is nothing but cardboard.

And the picture

you believed is a masterful work of art

is just a million puzzle pieces --

a million puzzle pieces that don’t fit together,

glued together.

I used to talk for hours without saying anything.

I spoke of nothing because you did not hear me. 

With every word left unheard,

every little piece mislaid and ground to ash

and the lies arbitrarily falling into the cracks

of the broken vase,
there was nothing left to restore.

The flowers had wilted. The crown had fallen.

But you saw what they wanted to see.

You asked me to hold it together one more time.

Were these words of wisdom or folly?

I knew these pieces did not fit together.

And one cannot put together shattered glass

and call it a vase again. 

© 2012 Helena Malheur 

The Root of Your Words

Like the wind tosses 

autumn leaves,

sorrow has strewn 

my memory--

it's spotty at best.

But if I close my eyes,

I can still feel your hands

caress my hair as I slept--

they’re even softer, gentler

in the darkness.

And sometimes

I see a glimpse of you 

in the mirror. 

I see you 

behind swaying curtains

and swinging doors; 

I know you are there, but 

I can never find you 

when I look for you; 

and I choose to run away 

to a place that is safer than this.

But when the spring lilies bloom

their stems sprout

above the root of your words;

I know them all too well. 

They tell me that

your God has not left me.

They tell me that

your God is my God.

And he will be good to me

as he was good to you.

And that one day, 

I will find you

when I look for you.

© 2012 Helena Malheur

For my mother (Dec 1942- Apr 2006)