Sunday, March 1, 2015

Three Poems by A.J. Huffman

The Anole

snuggled closer to the security lamp,
wrapping itself around generated false
heat.  The night was damp, hazy,
and the tiny creature’s color had paled to match
bulb’s sallow glow.  A distant door slammed,
sent it scattering.  I watched the borrowed translucence
of exquisite ghostly version of itself fade
back into something more appropriately pedestrian,
a muddled brown, to scamper across the mud.

Total Eclipse of the Sun

Shadows moved in, lay claim
to gleam of lake. The perfect white
of trees, clouded gray to calm
the skyline.  Crystals
are sent skipping like glittering stones
out among another
bottomless night.

A Frog Croaked

needlessly on my shoe, a victim
of fear-induced self-murder.  Three
days earlier, it frantically leapt
into the garage, attempting to escape
the puppy sent scampering behind
my legs.  I was not quick
enough to block the mistaken path.
Disoriented, it hid behind levels
of totes, mountainous blue building
blocks of false security.  I knew it would
not survive the suffocating heat,
windowless Floridian summer.  Confined
and confused it did not show
itself for me to help.  I found it
belly up at 5 a.m., inches from the closed
door.  Upended, I assume, by the last-
minute mad attempt for
freedom.  Failed, valiantly.
I buried the tiny body next to a hibiscus
bloom, an appropriate resting spot.
I thought.

A.J. Huffman has published eleven solo chapbooks and one joint chapbook through various small presses.  Her new poetry collection, Another Blood Jet, is not available from Eldritch Press.  She has two more poetry collections forthcoming:  A Few Bullets Short of Home, from mgv2>publishing and Degeneration, from Pink. Girl. Ink.  She is a Multiple Pushcart Prize nominee, and has published over 2100 poems in various national and international journals, including Labletter, The James Dickey Review, Bone Orchard, EgoPHobia, and Kritya.  She is also the founding editor of Kind of a Hurricane Press.

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