AMANDA LEWIS - WHAT YOU DON'T SEE - POEM COLLECTION

Amanda Lewis originally hails from West Virginia, but is currently living on the other side of the world. Though a Shanghai person at heart, she is now living and working in Henan province (central China) where she teaches English to university students. She loves having deep talks with friends and reflecting on the intricacies of this human existence. 

---

​She Rarely Comes Out​

​My vulnerability is a recluse--
she rarely comes out
from behind her boarded windows
and locked doors.
She learned to live in the safety
of the nursery;
to rock herself to sleep in her cradle.
A baby who never grew
to adulthood,
never ventured into the outside world--
A world terrifying and beautiful
with unpredictable melodies
that startle the soul
and tug at the heart’s longings
like jazz.
 
 

​All That Jazz

​Jazz is a melody—unfettered--
composed by those in chains.
So is it the song of the free man or the slave?
 
A ring on a finger
can bring a pretty pink flush to a face,
But it can also turn a face red in anger
as it is yanked off
and thrown across the room.
 
A decorated nursery and an empty cradle--
What do you see?
A broken dream?
Or a promise of what’s to come?
 
Life’s meaning is often unclear.
Its truth, reclusive.
Something wonderful can be at the same time
or in the next minute—awful.
 
Still, we keep our cradles ready,
Keep giving our rings away,
and especially,
keep playing that jazz.
 
 

​The Pink Barrette

​ 
She entered the room--
a bold presence,
feather boa round her neck,
and a jazzy step to her walk.
Her lipstick brightened
her slightly curled lips,
and her eyelids were heavily
shadowed.
The only thing gentle--
was the way she cradled
her purse in her arm,
As if its contents were both
precious and fragile.
She must have seen hard times,
for she had a reclusive smile.
Straight-lipped, she strode
to my counter,
“Martini on the rocks.
Make it a double.”
I didn’t expect her voice
to choke at the end.
I nodded and turned
to busy myself with the order.
Her image went with me.
I felt a mysterious pain about her.
It pressed in on me,
squeezing my heart tightly.
I tried, but failed, to push it away.
A bit breathless, I turned back
to deliver the drink,
maybe say a few words.
She was gone.
All that was left in her place
was a small, pink, child’s hair barrette
made of light ribbon and a simple clip.
It must have been so heavy for her.