KIM D. BAILEY - POEMS

Kim D. Bailey, a 2017 Pushcart Prize Nominee, writes Women’s Fiction, short stories, poetry, non-fiction, a weekly column. Kim is a poetry editor for two journals. She is currently editing a third novel and does freelance editorial work. She's published in several online literary journals and print magazines, podcasts, and has taught writing courses online. She currently lives in Fort Oglethorpe, GA with her partner and published poet, S. Liam Spradlin. You may connect with her at www.kimbaileydeal.net or Twitter @kimbaileydeal, Instagram @kimdbaileyauthor or her Facebook page https://m.facebook.com/AuthorKimDBailey/

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​                                                     Serendipity
 
 
There will be time for sadness again,
to wring hands, wail at the half-moon,
gnash teeth and shake a fist
at God,
or whomever,
for the losses and pain,
but not today.
 
Grief will rest heavy upon
the chest and like a cat's claws,
dig in for an extended stay
to mourn
or feel numb
to form a sinkhole in the heart,
but not today.
 
Another moment of rage will burn
hot white, red bloodletting knives will
be thrown from our lips and eyes
at someone,
or something,
for the wrongs not righted,
but not today.
 
Disappointment will drop by
unexpected and unwelcome, to remind
us that life is never fair
to us
or to those we love,
a reality check of ups and downs--
but not today.
 
On this day we will climb this tower
together, tethered only to one another, tied
by beats of our hearts, in sync
serendipitous and surreal,
and while we gaze above
the treetops from this place,
or at the clouds from this blanket
on the grass,
we fly,
our feet
never leaving the ground.
 
 
 
                                At Last, Arrival
 
 
The first Saturday in March
we met on the corner, Camp House
coffee for two,
a voice from my phone stated,
“You have arrived at your destination.”
 
I looked both ways before crossing
searching for a familiar face
booked for several months
kind eyes, hard to tell the color,
but they draw me close
and we collide.
 
All at once it's clear
your face more familiar than I first
believed, your smile a caress and I let you
wrap me like a gift, as I fold up within your arms
as though my place had been saved
bookmarked
while our lives transpired, preparations
made, hearts broken
glued back together with grace
given to hope, in all hopelessness,
never give up
never say die
and when I look into
your eyes,
I know
that I know
that I know
I have arrived.
 
  
 
 
                                       Tourniquet
 
 
Are we comfortable, content, moving daily toward a dream—or complacent,
caught up in sad refrains, reaching but not rising, to meet one another
 
watching the decay, hopeless? What would it take?
Teaching moments miss the mark, slide around us, leaving us lonely
 
looking for a way out. Stifling fear and oppression fill the void once overflowing,
lingering love lost on echoes of egregious words, killing fields
 
of kindness run with blood; broken hearts and dreams, derailed by deleterious
dogma, refusing any outsider purchase on this sacred
 
ground. Blood, it’s all that matters, despite the vows or veneration whispered, wedded.
I tripped over my tongue and sprained my ankle aspiring for first place in your
 
heart, I broke my own, shattered against the wall where blood begets bond
above all, so this is where I limp away.