Eleanor Henderson

Short Poems

Metaphor

A metaphor is a meteor —
A flash of insight.
Connect . . . connect . . . connect . . .

Exhaustion is a

Constant companion,
Though I’ve had more welcome company.
The world is dim, remote, unfamiliar.
Muscles and nerves do not serve.
They do what they can, not what they must.

The Absentee

A bicycle sits there unattended,
A sleek silver frame braced against a low wall.
On its rear carrier is perched a little black box singing its heart out.
Who is the phantom traveler, this absentee purveyor of tunes?
I’m not like to know, since it’s time for me to go.
A frame without a photo.
Another unsolved mystery.

Murder

I dreamt I committed murder.
The thought appeared, a silver shape
Hiding,
Gliding in and out of patches of the unthinkable.
Who? When? Where?

Ambush

Explosions — white hot, jagged –
Tear through my head, lungs, gut;
Embed in my joints, shatter my rib cage.
There is no exit.
I manage to sit upright. They cease.
Please, teacher, give me a hall pass
If you play Eric Dolphy’s music again.
(Sorry. It really was that bad.)

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