Three Poems By Maureen Daniels

The Vizard

And now, in a mask, it’s hard to say hello.  
Hello, mouth I will not kiss with my mouth.

Hello, lips I have not bit amidst this ruffled indigo.
The blue sets off your eyes, eyes darting south

which means you haven’t forgotten how to want
in this world. Your half-face is faithful fireworks,

ears jutting out as if they hope to disenchant
a fever stoking my heart, the viral

reminders of all the reasons I want you most.
Your gloved hand takes my hand, breathes

everything into an overdose
of lipless laughter. Don’t ever leave.

Whatever happens, I promise not to love you less.
Let’s just call this our future instead of life repressed.




Editor's Note: The author would like to give credit to Andrea Selch for the first line of this poem. 
Gilly Up

If one of us has lost trust in a dawn
a golden raven will remove your hat
revealing a trapeze swung to a yawn
and whatever escapes is a cat
poised on a keyless piano blinking
their third eyelid at the dry iced stage.
The audience prepares to pounce singing
All I Want from You (is Away) off page.
Do you think the wet shadow of my heart
is a season, or am I a vanished
Zig-Zag girl, an illusion sliced apart?
Are we trapped in a play by Mamet?
I think knot. Tie me up. Teach me to rust.
No one can cure me of this wanderlust.





Editor's Note: The author would like to give credit to Megan McCormick for the first line of this poem.
Ghostish

A ghost of hope arrives by night to speak
blue whispers into my hair. I can’t tell
what desire will bring without a freak
form of forgiveness, a goblet of spells

rippling through every room. I miss tongues
the forever side of thighs in the back
of a sand bitten car, strumming thumbs
& a summer so full the heat’s abstract

as a music hall of tequila shot-
glass showgirls & daylight better not stop
saying yes, but even if I forget
the way home through the symphony of rock

filled fields, I’d still lie about your plastic
dagger blurring my body’s elastic. 






Editor's Note: The author would like to give credit to Scott Combs for the first line of this poem. 

Maureen Daniels is New York based poet and educator. Maureen received her MFA from the City University of New York. Their poems have recently been published in Third Wednesday, Rosebud, Yale Palimpsest, and The Magnolia Review. She is currently at work on a PhD in Literature.

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