Yellow Lullabies


Sylvia Kimbel 

yellow lullabies 

the trees sway in silhouette 
from a mellow crescent moon 
- a show flashing twilight casts shadows. 

the last train travels the rails 
in a careless rhythmic sleep 
- a slowly flashing yellow light marks the end. 

the black man dances down the street 
in a smooth calculated beat 
- slowly flashing head lights pulse in time. 

the dry brush burning in the field 
sends up steady funnels of smoke 
- flames flash slow in the distance. 

the dead, hallow building stands 
behind the trees, down the street from the rails 
- a slowly flickering street lamp finally burns out. 

And the yellow melts to black. 

Michael Amato 

Apt. 201 

He stands there naked 
save for black wool socks 

fallen to his ankles. 
He cranks electric heater 

higher, then hesitates 
before a piece of mirror 

without a frame, & stares 
enraptured at what's left 

hanging from his bones. 
He runs a hand through hair 

to calm it, rinses out 
his mouth, hurries over 

tiled concrete back to bed, 
& presses fingers to her marble 

breasts; rolling over, she wonders 
where she dropped her shoes. 

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