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You Never Talked About Dying
(for Dimos) By Lorette C. Luzajic, B.A.A.

You never made it back to Greece,
and now there is nothing to keep you
from the white stone shores.

You can float
in sun-drenched eternity
a turquoise ripple in the depths of blue.
In little white houses, there are
plates of olives and lamb, steaming in wait of you.

You never talked about dying,
but then, what is there to say?
I’m afraid, I’m angry, I’m lost
these are the things
that lay in your heart,
dark shrouds

Of these sorrows inside me, I could not speak,
but you knew,
you knew I was petrified to lose you,
you knew my optimism was for you,
you knew
you could not keep me
from crumpling and

I knew
there was
nothing
I could do
to save you.

Jesus Wept By Lorette C. Luzajic, B.A.A.

When Jesus wept,
He cried for all the unborn children
and the doom and gloom they were in for
the concave stomachs and the flies
the back of father’s hand: the lies

He ate with women
we would not walk with
listened patiently for hours
dried their tears and gave them flowers
relieved them of their scars and thirst for pain
prayed for water, blood and rain

Something had to be done
about a man who called himself God
went around praying with hookers
had an unmarried mother.

Something had to be done
something driven through hands and feet
something stolen from his sleep
nails to keep him where everyone could see
but Jesus only said,
pick up your cross, and follow me.

Flowers from Carmine By Lorette C. Luzajic, B.A.A.

Who knows who you are
or why you keep yourself sane
by collecting dogs and lunchboxes

You love to talk on about this and that
and never disclose much
in these ramblings

I’ve lived half as long as you have
and I haven’t lived as hard,
but I don’t have a garden.
Your bouquets are startling- colour like spring
erasing used up seasons.

I imagine you at night, trowel in hand,
digging through the pieces of your life
weeding out what is broken or dead.
You meditate in secret
on the colours that you and rain created.

But these are just my imagined pictures. I am one of those types who spends too much time alone in cafes. It’s the caffeine that does it to me. I put too much store in the unknown, in multiple causation. And you- you could not analyze me if you tried.

Your invitations to smoke grass are uneasy but eager.
You like me because you do not scare me,
and because there is something left in me
that can still surprise you.

But we will never really know each other. I will lose you.
I would ask for more from you but you do not ask for more friends.

I picked a rose while walking home one summer night,
a treasure
from your quiet yard.
I wore it, like a gift, in my hair.

Bio: Lorette C. Luzajic is a poet from Toronto, Ontario. She is the former editor of the online arts magazine, The Idea Museum and has recently released her first book of poems, "The Astronaut's Wife: Poems of Eros and Thanatos." For more information on Lorette C. Luzajic you can visit her website www.thegirlcanwrite.net.