Four Poems • Lucinda Flanary

Southern Sunday Summer Dress
You sat on the steps
Of my front porch
In your Southern Sunday summer dress
Even though it was Autumn
And you were a Yankee now

Your legs spread just enough
To hold a bowl of pomegranate seeds
Your knees were bent
And your bare feet splayed out
In awkward angles

Your hair was up
And your inhibitions tumbled down
In your Southern Sunday summer dress
Your fingers were stained red
With sticky sweetness

You sat on the steps
Your knees bent just enough
For me to capture a kiss
On my front porch
With sticky sweetness

Your hair was up
With your knees bent
In awkward angles
Even though it was Autumn
Your inhibitions tumbled down

You were a Yankee now
With your lips stained red
You sat on the steps
In your Southern Sunday summer dress

On my front porch
With your bare feet splayed out
I captured a kiss
While your bowl tumbled down
With sticky sweetness
And it stained red
Your Southern Sunday summer dress


I remember the summer
That I followed you to the mountains
With my parasol and orange pekoe tea
You loved the scent of pine needles
And I loved the scent of you
It rained for days
With my charcoals
I captured your likeness
I chased shadows and light around your body
And captured the best of you
With my tongue
On the nights when I knew
That no canvas would contain you
The rains ended
All too soon
And I could only hold you with my gaze
After my arms stopped being enough


All that I can really be for you is
“There” when you want me
“There” when you need me
“There” when you have had enough of this world
Or when this world seems to have had its fill of you
You wander this earth a lone pirate
Not sure of what treasure it is that you seek
You walk with a map in hand
Looking for the place where X marks the spot
Some answer
That only leads to more questions
You dig and dig
Only to find another map
To another treasure
That doesn’t exist
And you are left with an empty trunk
To bury the latest body
Treasure Island is becoming a graveyard
But I am there
To hold your shovel
Even though it gets heavier each time
I stand
Sometimes in patience
Sometimes not
But I am still “there”
I would like to think of “there”
As the constant that you claim
When the temporaries in this world
Destroy your heart and distract your mind
I know the rewards for being “there”
“There” to hold you
“There” to encourage you
“There” to keep you sane
But I also know the realities of being “there”
Always “there”
Just “there”
And over “there”
And yet, it is where I choose to stay
Good thing that I am holding the shovel
I may need it someday


Extra Sauce
You came home with Taco Bell on your breath
She is nineteen and working the drive-thru
Sneaking you those free bean burritos
Like she knew a fat man's Viagra
You say that you don't love her
That you love me
It is just that with her
You can have a "normal go nowhere relationship"
As if that means that we may go somewhere someday
But baby, we've been going nowhere for two years
And I haven't felt normal in a long while
I can't keep being the part time wife
To a two-timing man
I know that you will try to hang on to me
Because you can't handle normal for long
Her hot sauce will soon lose its fire
And she will realize
Her potential to super size
Will only go so far
Then you will be looking
For my home cooking
And I won't be waiting at home
But don't you worry
There will always be another nineteen year old
In another drive-thru
And there is a Dairy Queen right next door


For many years, Lucinda L. Flanary was 
a retail clerk aspiring to be an artist,
then she realized that she was an artist aspiring 
NOT to be a retail clerk. She is a poet, a 
published short fiction writer, photographer, 
painter and crafter who believes in 
re-appropriating found objects and finding 
morbid beauty in the dilapidated and the abandoned.