Poems by Mary-Grace Rusnak

Note: A bio for Mary-Grace can be found here.

Red Stripes

Red stripes of peppermint creep stealthily up a candy cane only to hang their heads in shame because they know full well they’ll rot your teeth. Red racing stripes spin out across sugar cookies baked every year for mariners who can’t make it home for Christmas. Red stripes laugh on an awning as we sip coffee and eat beignets at a sidewalk cafe in Orange Beach. It was the last time I saw you. Red stripes pretend to be cherries hiding inside foil wrappers pulled from packs of Fruit Stripe gum, chewed in secret then stuck to the bottom of my school desk. Red stripes blaze on a freshly slapped cheek that matches the shirt I wore when he thought he might take it off. Sweat on a bottle of Red Stripe Beer with a plate full of crabs caught by the seawall in Port Arthur in August, mercilessly boiled in a garbage can. My blistering sunburn had a one-night stand in the arms of an ice-cold beer. Red stripes shimmer on a swimsuit I made in tenth grade before white stripes sliced through bare red shoulders in my shimmering blue prom dress. Red pinstripes on a tiny oxford shirt the day he posed on a photographer’s pony, a week after his baby brother died. Red stripes mark the days I’ve lived since the day you left. Red stripes grace a flag folded in on itself, buried inside a tight triangle to the somber sound of tears and taps.

Last Dance 

In heels. My cheek rested on a broad shoulder
from the right side of our rusty railroad tracks.
His lyrical Southern name is older
than our small Southern town. Knowing the facts,
I still fell. Great love became gossip fodder.
He left for LSU; I was stuck back home,
languishing while he waltzed up the social ladder.
Bright lights brewed lust on the fast-track.
Society and family approved of her, not me.
Moonlight rolled its eyes over the haystacks
as she and he danced toward their date with the altar.
A month passed as they unwrapped gifts,
arranged new towels and knickknacks.
Then my phone shook off its dust.
From across town, his Southern drawl
seared my head and heart.
I married the wrong girl, he said.

My Sister-Friend

For Jan

Before man named time,

you were with me.

You are the spiral

of warm air that gently

propels my fragile wings skyward,

the rock on which I rest

when I’m too weary

to stir, the radiant soul

that never fails

to renew my faith.

In the darkest hours

of desperately dismal days,

you make me laugh until I cry.

Trusted to your gentleness,

my heart shines

like a freshly waxed

Chevy, cruising

the beach road

with the T-tops off,

the wind in our hair,

until time

no longer has a name.

 Uncle Charles Returns to Nature

He built his cabin
from pines on his land:
felled them, stripped them,
notched them, stacked them.
Now, cinnamon bears stop by
for coffee with cream.

Lost in the Pages of a Book

Ann escapes into her novel.
Kids bang on the cover,
ask what’s for dinner.
Bound and gagged
in a gothic romance,
mom’s imprisoned in Chapter 13.

Not So ‘Tweet Story

Cyber-stalker has her address,
kids’ school, dog’s name,
what she cooks for lunch.
Watchful and wired,
he hangs on her every post.

Words Make Snow

 Feathers swirl outside my window,
Light on reams of random prattle.
With a whirring crunch, words make snow.

Crisp vellum with pencil yellow
Meet in stifled churning feeling.
Feathers swirl outside my window.

Petrified past he can’t let go
Cruel speech slashes sweet memory.
With a whirring crunch, words make snow.

Icy prose a pointed arrow,
bounces off this frozen facade.
Feathers swirl outside my window.

Expectations grim and narrow
Color the future bleak and blue.
With a whirring crunch, words make snow.

Thoughts profound no longer flow.
Coffee stains these dark wee hours.
Feathers swirl outside my window.
With a whirring crunch, words make snow.