Photographing Clint - ©1999 Claudia Schlottman

Photographing Clint  - 1999 - by Claudia Schlottman  

He leans back, arms outstretched

on the rail, terry robe wrapped

around his long body

cinched with an easy knot,

his silhouette framed by

an almost-dark sky that

hints of a purple 

and orange sunset.

A few degrees atilt,

a wine glass rests between

his thumb and forefinger.

Hot-tub water drips

into Birkenstocks--size 46,

he draws one foot up and

props it on a picket,

breaking the robe, showing

a knee, hinting at his

nakedness beneath.

Seeing the camera,

he cocks his head, silver hair

shining in the porch light,

and looks straight at the lens.

Brown eyes gleam as he breaks

into the smile he saves

for me alone.

The Other Woman ©2010 Claudia Schlottman

I never knew this woman
of steel and guts, this woman
you said would survive no matter what.
I never saw the iron at
her core that was clear to you,
that you believed was the glue
that held her in one piece.

The woman I know is
a pretender a coward
who hid her angst, rallied
the family, sent them to
lie at your side, sit at your feet
until death began slowly
to reveal itself and they
could no longer bear
the sounds of its rattle
in your throat

The woman I know lay
with you all afternoon
awash in tears and lied
to you and said she
could endure it and not to
worry to go ahead and die
if you needed to.

Clinging to your sweater
her head on your shoulder
alone and scared she touched
your cheek, scorched with fever
said good-bye but didn’t mean it.

Fear

Since my brother’s cancer came back

I’ve tasted dirty pennies.

Not a stick of Dentyne - not a

cigarette will stave it off.

Sipping a cold martini from

a hand painted glass I bought to

make me feel better masks it for

only the moment.

Awake at three-thirty, I blot

sweat from my face, brush my teeth

wash down Xanax with water from

a plastic bottle.

The pounding in my chest subsides.

At last I sleep - hair dried in

curly mats against my pillow.

©  2011 cj Schlottman

Yoga

lights dim new age music

spilling softly from speakers in the ceiling

i push the small of my back

into the purple mat

i open my eyes see Belle’s head

suspended over my face

she sniffs my mouth whiskers brush

my nose sniffs again as though

she can smell the rot of grief as i exhale

wretched gloom won’t leave

my head even while stretching

twisting holding proud warrior

or downward facing dog

breathing long breaths counting slowly

to ten with each new posture

segueing seamlessly from pose to pose

even in yoga there is no peace

(he’s dead, you fool, he’s dead)

i sit legs crossed hands folded

between my breasts as though in prayer

chin down i mutter namaste &

wish i could disappear

©  2010 cj Schlottman

Snakes in My Head - © 2010 Claudia Schlottman

I wish i were a reptile    a young snake

so I could   shed my skin by rubbing 

my nose against a rock    separating 

it at my lips     slithering out 

to reveal a more   hardwearing one    

growing and sliding under

rocks  through dark places   unnoticed      

sneaking into houses    scaring 

people inside.

Unbothered by cold   i would hibernate 

through it    &  in warm weather    bask 

in the sun    lay eggs or give live birth  

like boas & cobras & garter snakes 

birthing    a wriggling writhing mass of young 

to begin growing   molting   

becoming more rugged & craggy with 

the passing of each season.

Carnivorous   i would eat whatever 

i could catch    master   and swallow

rats & bugs & fiddler crabs & lizards 

insects & groundhogs & even small dogs.

I’d have    no heart    to break & no conscience 

or    sense of loss    i’d not think of my young  

nor remember their father. 

Thanksgiving Feast ©12/06/09 Claudia Schlottman

Perrier Joet from a hand blown flute
long stemmed fading from green to blue
tastes bitter on my lips & stings my tongue.

Chocolate mousse melts to mud in my mouth
while the hole in the room grows wide
& they pretend it’s Thanksgiving when we
all know it’s the edge of madness.

Cheese straws are sawdust in my throat choking
me, pasting my cheeks to my teeth
my tongue to the roof of my mouth. Will I
ever forgive you for leaving
me to strangle on my grief?