Whispered to Lucifer (Lucille Clifton – Two Poems)

lucifer six-finger

where have you gone to

with your swift lightning


oh son of the morning

was it the woman

enticed you to leave us


was it to touch her

featherless arm

was it to curl your belly


around her

that you fell laughing

your grace all ashard


leaving us here in

perpetual evening

even the guardians


silent     all of us

going about our

fathers’ business


less radiant

less sure


Eve’s Version

smooth talker

slides into my dreams

and fills them with apple

apple snug as my breast

in the palm of my hand

apple sleek apple sweet

and bright in my mouth


it is your own lush self

you hunger for

he whispers     lucifer


Gabe the Babe

We have no reason for connection, Gabriel and I, other than by association: he is an angel, I am Family and therefore we should be dangerous to one another.

We are dangerous to one another.  We may not admit it, but then ours is not a relationship that flourishes in conversation.  It’s more primal than that, instinct takes us both over when we come into physical contact with one another.

I don’t need photographs of Gabriel.  I don’t need to go far beneath my surface to suffer his image.  What destroys me is the level of want he encourages in me: want and a desperate need for kinship.  He returns it: the heat that generates from his need ignites us both to recklessness whenever we fall into each other’s orbit. Which is why I restrict him so much: like heroin, Gabriel induced lassitude is both addictive and unhealthy.