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Michaela A. Gabriel
Spring 2006
april rules of conduct
1
learn everything about the offside law.
you don't want to be disabused by a
guy with gold chains, retro hairstyle,
who still thinks he's the cat's pyjamas.
2
collect headlines that don't mention
the fickleness of weather and women.
paper your smallest mirror with them.
3
jump into puddles. repeat mizzle, drizzle,
raindrop poems until you are thoroughly
wet. slosh home leaving tadpoles
to form new parades in your wake.
4
take a picture of the sky as seen from
your bathroom window every day at eight.
count the hues of blue, silver, rain.
5
bump into the cute neighbour
three times a day, call it serendipity
to his face. hide charts, callipers, careful
scheming behind an innocuous smile.
6
wear your heart on your sleeve.
if reactions don't satisfy, slip into tank
tops, crown yourself queen of fools.
7
read your favourite book backwards.
this might give you clues to life, teach you
how to deal with resurrections, rivers
flowing upstream, unhappy endings.
Far away, clouds lure you to the sea
And I am with you in the dunes, where the horizon
has taken on the colour of my eyes, where a breeze
shivers salt-laced caresses on your northern skin.
You run, but there is no getting away from me.
My voice is what you hear, not your heart pounding
in your ears, the wild staccato come-on of your name.
This is how I bring you to your knees, how hands know
what to do. Saliva warms palms so much better than this
pale excuse of a sun, speaks the language of my tongue.
I have planted a film in your head, cast myself as
the lead, all you have to do is follow. Fingers stand in
for the great absentee, my mouth, aim to be as gentle,
as wicked, as pleasant a surprise. How suddenly the world
tilts, startling a mermaid who wakes among fragments
of a foreign dream: curves, taut areolas, a silvery trail.
Whispers swell, fill the void of the sky until my name
breaks on your lips like waves on the shore. There is no
sand to swallow, disinterestedly, what you have to give,
only my mouth, a crimson circle, greedier than
an ocean. It's me who short-circuits your brain until
the tide turns, leaving a trace of sea foam on my cheek.
For a while, this is what you are: a shell that carries
nothing but the secret of one morning, the scent of
sex clinging to your outer layer till the rains come.
Bio: Michaela A. Gabriel (*1971) lives in Vienna, Austria, where she assists adults in acquiring computer and English skills, and gets together with the muse as often as possible. She has been published in English, German, Italian, and Polish, both online and in print. Her first chapbook, "apples for adam", was published by FootHills Publishing in January 2005. When she is not writing, she is reading, listening to music, watching movies, blogging, communicating with friends, playing tennis or travelling – frequently several of these at the same time.
Website: http://members.chello.at/michaela.a.gabriel.
Email:michaela.gabriel@chello.at
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