Sam Barbee

The Glitter

New Year’s Day: I lay white roses 

at the apartment’s locked door — flung 

open, Liz’s blush relaxes my regret 

over sneaking out last night without 

proper goodbye. White petals beg 

before her freshly-painted toenails.  

She lifts the six roses, and smiles.

Do enter my garden of mirth.  

 

After a good morning hug and forever kiss,

renewing our passion is prompt.  

As we catch our breath, she opens

a bedside drawer wallpapered with pink flowers

on a golden vine, and eases out a family bible 

from between colorful scarves.  

Fans provocative Polaroids of her embrace 

with a glamourous woman – they are laughing, 

their breasts tan, each sprinkled with glitter.  

I fantasize, sudden resolution for the new year:

the photos, and this woman, and me. 

 

I tilt my head and grin. Outside, city hydraulics

swell taming my fiction. Liz rolls her eyes 

and dials a classical station – minor arpeggios 

douse my daydreams. 

I shouldn’t have shown you these. 

A crazy one-off a long time ago.  

I suspect she will soon describe me that way.

 

She stuffs the photos back into the bible

golden-edged pages at a random verse 

and plops it on the scarves. Closes the drawer.

I admire how someone can deftly catalog 

a dalliance into a cozy place, and will allow 

today’s white roses to wither.


She Finally Lets Me Strum Her Martin Guitar

Aleah and I sit on her red sofa.

She extends the prized guitar

baptized Eve,

                      as if her infant,

trusting I am skillful.

 

I realign my slouch.

Slide fingers along

dovetail bridge,

rosewood curves.

Honey-grain laminate.

Dark-toned neck to a crown

of pearl pegs.

 

Aleah requests 

I improvise a song 

about her. 

                 Roused 

by Martin tone,

I quiver.    

              Eve purrs.

 

Over ivory inlay

I pluck and strum:

                              soundboard, 

a blood-deep cavity

where her heartbeat overflows –

hushed earth claiming 

our duet, 

               fret by fret.

Harmony arcs as my palm  

eases along gloss 

of Aleah’s maple spine.



Biography

Sam Barbee most-recent collection is titled Apertures of Voluptuous Force (2022, Redhawk Publishing). Three previous collections include That Rain We Needed (2016, Press 53), a nominee for the Roanoke-Chowan Award as one of North Carolina’s best poetry collections of 2016. His poems appeared in Poetry South, Salvation South, Dead Mule School of Literature, and Streetlight Magazine, also upcoming in Cave Wall, among others; plus on-line journals Ekphrastic Review, Verse Virtual, Grand Little Things, and Medusa’s Kitchen; and is a two-time Pushcart nominee.

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