stuart james beall

Having offered my intentions, and made my feelings an affront,
feelings left me wondering … ¿What could cause this hurt?

Only care in back of it could move a body here,
where, staring at an empty room, inhaling stuffy air,
realization can slap you.
Realization can slap you.

As the Christmas gathering ended, young acquaintances lived on.
There wasn’t a name for the feeling I had.
It was here where I saw that innocent plant.

Its leaves were wide and shiny, obscured by evergreen branches,
and begging to be seen.

Beautiful, colorful lights, reflected back toward me,
inviting someone’s reach.

My hand reached down and pulled it from the place it waited.
It bore the name of somebody else. It would not accompany me.

Others left with gifts galore, but nothing left with me.
Nothing, that is, except for the memory of smooth, green, prickly leaves.

Imaginary refreshment awakened me;
as if with shiny, red, and poisonous berries.