Christmas in a Black Print Dress

Among my many - well, let's call them quirks - I collect words.

Well, not words exactly, in fact, I was terrible at spelling and hopeless at Scrabble, and really don't like word games at all, prefering math games such as Killer Suduco and Cross Math.

So, more accurately, I collect words strung together to create memorable phrases.

I keep them, at first handwritten in a notebook, now in a digital archive, safeguarded for future perusal.

I've done this ever since I was in elementry school and first realized, in my own unformed brain, the profound effect of words strung together in powerful, evocative ways.

Some of these I don't need the archive to remind me of, at least sometimes (the memory is not infallible - hence the archived collection).

Like this one, arguably one of the better opening lines of a book:

I opened the door and the muggy dark rushed in like a pet that's supposed to stay outside at night. (Ed Gorman)

There's the relatable:

For me it’s not over untill someone cries and I apologize (Mark Maron)

I especially like when a whole discriptive passage is skillfully distilled down to a single, efficient yet rich and powerful, line:

You left the bathroom looking like the end of a long bus ride (Rod McKuen)

Or

It was the kind of heat where families begin to eye each other's throats (Robert Parker)

And there's the snatch-you-out-of-your-chair-and-dump-you-right-in-the-middle-of-the-scene:

In the low darkness of the alley the sole delineation of blood from the blackness was a certain vibration of the line where animal movement ended and the uneven bricks began (G.M. Ford)

And the gut-punchingly evocative:

As lonely as a midnight cigarette (Unknown)

And, of course, there's the profound:

Forget your perfect harmony - There's a crack in everything - That’s how the light gets in. (Leonard Cohen)

Usually I just collect these as reminders so I can continue to enjoy them, but in one case I couldn't resist doing a little more than that.

Apologies and credit to Rod McKuen who wrote The Christmas Cactus from which I stole the, within the context of the his poem, almost an incidental throwaway yet deliciously provocative, phrase that became the title of the following piece. (I missed the season with this one, but I thought I'd inflict release this rambling of mine from some time 30 - 35 years ago on y'all anyway)

Christmas in a Black Print Dress

You stand there
     between the apples and the pears
contemplating misted produce
     supple fingers selecting golden fruit
oblivious to what you really are

I stand here
     feeling the heat of sudden tears
the tugging of a crooked smile.
     My lonely quest for green salsa abandoned
I am transfixed, watching you from afar

You twist and move
     the line, the ripe swell, so sweet and smooth
Releasing dreams tangled in the dark
Those lush curves lighting lost possibilities
     awakening my dark heart with their sweet glow

You steal my breath, my knees,
     when your dress flirts in the breeze
Lifting in gentle silk caresses
      unveiling a tiny hint of truth beneath
Just hint enough to make my tainted blood flow.

Christmas in a black print dress
all wrapped up so neat and pretty.
A gift of promise in this tired ol’ city.
A beacon of hope to pierce this ol’ pity.
You are Christmas in a black print dress.