Tresha Faye Haefner is a dedicated writer, teacher, and native of California. She has studied with such luminaries as Kim Addonizio, Sally Ashton, Brendan Constantine, Matthew Dickman, Suzanne Lummis, and Jack Grapes. Her work appears or is forthcoming in several journals, including Amarillo Bay, The Ante Review, Anomalous, Artocratic, BloodLotus, The Cincinnati Review, Meelusine, Pirene’s Fountain, Poet Lore and Rattle. She is also the author of a new chapbook, Take This Longing, out from Finishing Line Press (www.finishinglinepress.com). Herwork has been awarded such recognition as the Robert and Adele Schiff Poetry Prize (2012), TheSummer Writer’s Row Award (2013) and a Pushcart Nomination (2013). She currently lives in Los Angeles, where she is living the dream of dreaming in a dream factory, and where she also teaches advanced poetry writing and revision to local poets, and helps other writers achieve their dreams. Visit www.thepoetrysalon.com for details.
Blue
Fish in February
Midnight.
February 23rd becomes February 24th.
Our birthdays collide like two fish swimming
in opposite directions.
The constellation of Pisces fills
the southern hemisphere.
Blue-tiger-like you move
through the labyrinth of time.
Figure rotating behind a curtain.
Moth flying past a screen door.
I walk the fields when I cannot sleep.
Above me the stars slip
in and out of consciousness.
This morning I wrote they were fish
disappearing into a sea that seemed endless.
Tonight they return.
If you were here
I would place my hand
on the blue whale tattoo under your shirt.
Once the moon was a white rabbit.
The clothing of Yeats woven
from his dreams.
I see it as something different.
Stars, like fish,
swim apart in the southern hemisphere.
The hills are blue tigers
walking away in the distance.
This dark shadow is all I have left.
Your blue whale tattoo sinking
one year deeper
into the shadow of your chest.
Midnight.
February 23rd becomes February 24th.
Our birthdays collide like two fish swimming
in opposite directions.
The constellation of Pisces fills
the southern hemisphere.
Blue-tiger-like you move
through the labyrinth of time.
Figure rotating behind a curtain.
Moth flying past a screen door.
I walk the fields when I cannot sleep.
Above me the stars slip
in and out of consciousness.
This morning I wrote they were fish
disappearing into a sea that seemed endless.
Tonight they return.
If you were here
I would place my hand
on the blue whale tattoo under your shirt.
Once the moon was a white rabbit.
The clothing of Yeats woven
from his dreams.
I see it as something different.
Stars, like fish,
swim apart in the southern hemisphere.
The hills are blue tigers
walking away in the distance.
This dark shadow is all I have left.
Your blue whale tattoo sinking
one year deeper
into the shadow of your chest.
© 2014
Tresha Faye Haefner
Tresha Faye Haefner was a Featured Poet who read his poetry at the September 2014 Second Sunday Poetry Series
Tresha Faye Haefner was a Featured Poet who read his poetry at the September 2014 Second Sunday Poetry Series