POETRY BY NICK ROMEO
When Nick Romeo is not at his nine-to-five occupation which is strongly situated in the STEM fields, he engages in various creative outlets such as 3D digital renderings, electronic music, writing, sewing, and photography.
Nick presently lives in Pittsburgh with his wife and two cat-children: Megatron and Tempest.
RECOLLECTION
The corners of my eyes
fold inside out, twisting
into knots while encrusted.
Tear ducts pump warm air
inside corridors lined with
paper mâché gargoyles,
spewing licorice and sourdough
onto icy floors, which tilt,
and fall with each movement.
I grasp a doorknob, and climb
thru that breach just before pieces fall
into a newly opened chasm.
The room is empty except for you
standing in the center, smiling,
wishing to reconfigure geometry:
walls, floors, and ceiling all reconstruct
a new castle from tidy blueprints.
I breathe heavy as you teleport closer.
Still smiling, you push me into a wall.
Eyes burning, lips open, as you hold me:
How long do you think you can resist?
Then the walls, floor; everything disappears,
while we levitate in a steel-gripped embrace.
Pulling onto the road this morning,
I saw a dead deer simmering, bleeding.
I hope that’s not the one who visits
the backyard to the joy of my gaze.
I thought of my dear during the pandemic.
I had to be her pharmacy and life coach,
coaxing her life along while she fought
hard to lose, as I lost count of her pills.
I now look at my surroundings, so much has changed.
Yet, I feel like I’ve given up while I make trips
outside to seek comfort from others I now hold dearer.
I tell them how tired I am, as they help me smile,
giving loving advice: “You mourn the living,
which is the most painful of all sorrow.”
While another one speaks of boundaries, setting them.
If only my backyard had a fence, that deer might be safe.
I move through the days in autopilot while thinking
that this arrangement of many years needs revised and repair.
I sigh, for it is stated our lives evolve: Love, Poverty and War.
I wish someone would tell me what comes after.
I climb into bed as she snores from the meds.
I wonder what to do. Can this be fixed?
I fixate on the ceiling and pray for hours, and then
I get out of bed to gaze out the window into the backyard.
SPEAKING EASY
Concealed quiet
I opened my heart
It all spilled out
Into the folds
Of her hands
I have surrounded myself by a fire while the evil creatures with broiling eyes, and teeth showing, wait outside seeking an opportunity. But these ones are different because, at times, they find a way into my dream leaving scratches on my body for when I awake.
She smiles assurance
And knows the feel
Of a battle lost
But I’m not there
Yet
Now that I told her everything
It’s quiet again
Her breathing synced
To my pulsing thoughts
Of what to say after
We propose a pact to a new friendship, to continue to speak honestly to each other, and we clack the glasses, just like ancients did to ward off evil creatures.