My Ever-Changing Muse

by Paul Rabinowitz

As the morning sun brushes my face
I remember watching you on stage
white bandana woven through dark hair
swollen eyes behind spotted glasses

struggling with the measured cadence
you shade your eyes from the light
then just before the big reveal
a paralysis sets into your jaw

as the audience hangs on for the finish
an unbearable silence sets in
the DJ quickly spins Amy Winehouse
as you duck under the spotlight

you join us poets who preceded you at the bar
I ask if you’d like something special
as you untie the bandana open my book
feel your hair brush my cheek and whisper

Your work moved me

and thought how Amy must have felt
alone on stage under the spotlight
endlessly interrogated by her fans
as she floated away on scattered debris

cheating herself   someone might throw a lifeline
instead they screamed for another song
about arrows piercing her heart
bloodstains on the bathroom floor

especially the endings

so when the sun on my face becomes too much
I set last night’s images in order for my next poem
head to the kitchen to make coffee
and find a scribbled note to wake you early

this one’s my favorite

and like I’ve been doing since the beginning
I heat the milk and blend the sugar
that special way you’ve always liked
sweetness inevitably rising to the top

Trapped

This morning
after a week of torrential rains
sitting alone in the garden
watching hundreds of perennials
burst into glimmering clusters
of pink and orange
I trap a memory

walking the perimeter
of a desert crater
I come across
a single flower
pushing through
clay and sandstone

when a small bird
lands on the arm
of my Adirondack chair
its head twitching
as if curious
about why a lost memory
from a distant land
without context
or association
suddenly appears

Yet every detail
of the single desert flower
is clear
like my reflection
in the puddle
at the edge of my feet

and without warning
a spectacular bolt of lighting
charges across the sky

your face appears
crying for help
as I run
down the escarpment
tumbling over
smoldering rocks

the small bird
tilts its head
flies to another perch
under a verdant canopy
protected from predators
as I let go
to find you there

BIO

Paul Rabinowitz is an author, photographer and founder of ARTS By The People. His works appear in The Sun Magazine, New World Writing, Burningword, The Montreal Review and elsewhere. Rabinowitz was a featured artist in Nailed Magazine in 2020, Mud Season Review in 2022, Apricity in 2023, Rappahannock Review in 2024 and Woven Take Press, 2025. He is the author of 5 books including his latest book of short stories called Syncopated Rhythms due out in 2025. Rabinowitz’s poems and fiction are the inspiration for 8 award winning experimental films, including Best Experimental Short at Cannes, Venice Shorts Film Festival, Oregon Short Film Festival and The Paris Film Festival.

For more about Paul: paulrabinowitz.com