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The Independent Review 1986 Winter Issue -page 2
All poetry and fiction printed herin remain the property of their respective authors. No part of this ezine may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except as may be expressly permitted by the Copyright Act or in writing by the author.
Late In August
If only summer would end,
our fans gasping and windows open,
The dog's constant panting.
The garden closing in on itself,
yellowed and shrinking
like plastic in fire.
Sweaty, I feel to the touch
like my skin is inside out.
You are always in the tub.
Nights, we lie down in the heat,
not touching, uncovered.
We talk, of course, about the weather.
We make our wishes for thunderstorms,
plan our dreams around cool mountains.
We think of when it will be good
to warm to each other's touch.
By Randy Phillis
And Then He Walked In
The party was boring - all the usual small talk,
"Wasn't Sally's dress in poor taste."
"And did you notice Naomi's dress is a copy of Jean's
original Paris creation?" - on and on it went
and then he walked in...
cocktail glasses paused in mid-air -
some never reaching the intended lips:
cheeks that had been cracking from forced laughter
relaxed in genuine smiles of admiration.
By the time he reached the midway point,
feminine ahs could be heard all over the room.
The chatter ceased as the steel-gray eyes continued
looking straight forward, the easy stride unfaltering -
seeminly oblivious to the sensation he was creating.
Not a trace of a smile about the handsome face
in recognition that he had an audience,
until unwittingly, he stepped on some feminine toes
too far in the aisle,
and immediately gentleness, solicitation and compassion
animated his face, as he stooped to give aid
to the lady so injured.
Everybody began talking at once, and the lady whose foot
was stepped on, felt like a queen!
By Sandy Macebuh
Someone To Care
I had wanted someone to care,
Someone to share
my life with me;
With each hour that ticked away,
I had wanted someone to say,
I'll help you fill your day;
I had wanted someone
to wind me up when
I was running low,
To be there with me
when time was slow,
Until it was time,
To share a memory, a life
before time ticked out -
and the wanting stopped.
By Gerri Holden
You come to me in the blue veiled mist
Of the last light of the evening;
a faint shadow of a dream
that began many years ago.
Through time, you have remained elusive;
an evanescent image that cannot be held.
You have left me with a thirst
that will never be quenched.
By Linda Herring