14 k gold and other poems

by Cher Bibler

14 k gold

I am losing you in the echo of

the black burnt elm

Your fever drains above me I

can hear the sigh of your

tangled lungs My kisses aren’t

effective anymore I want you

to stop it now but you can’t hear

me or if you can hear you

can’t shape the sounds into words



After Bach


We sit in the echo of your

unspoken words

A petal falls from the bougainvillea

a pale pink memory, a

paper party flower,

a moonclipped teardrop;

it is not what it seems.

We have too many secrets.

We are pressed under the

weight of the tears we don’t cry.

We fold this thought away

like too many others.

The threads of our secrets tangle in the glow

of our love, their edges unraveled,

their centers bound tight.

The leaves of the bougainvillea

tangle heartlike in our minds.




I feel as though our love is hopeless,

ill timed. My desire peaking

before yours, served only by hapless

messengers, carrying

gossip from soul to soul, pollen

dusted on their feet. Your

lust too late, your reaction too

slow. This perfect world has

arranged this to protect itself

from our love, I guess, to keep

our young from overrunning the

planet, to keep our colors hot and

unfulfilled, to keep our hunger



Fairy Dust


In this world, there is no

chance for us, we have to hold

in our feelings and pretend we

are just like the rest of them.

When my door is closed and

they can’t see me, they don’t

know what I do; they have no

idea what goes on in here.

If only I could get you here,

I could show you this

secret place; I could let

you live here a while until

their world washes out of

you and you’re clean and

whole again, but you’re afraid.

I can’t speak to you because

they’re all around, and when

I try to whisper, you back

away and pretend you’re busy.

Maybe I’ll abduct you

and prove to you there’s a better life.

Maybe I’ll capture you and

bring you home kicking and screaming.


(no title)


Certainly you didn’t intend to die;

your things were left in such disarray.

Words unspoken,

promises rumpled like an unmade bed,

truths hanging bare,

love still folded,

never taken out of the package,



Better in rags


I want Prince Charming, too,

you said and I stared at you,

surprised. Why do you always

get to be Cinderella? you

wanted to know. Because I

look best in a ball dress, I

said and you told me with

a sniff, Well I look

better in rags.


(no title)


I have it safe in my pocket;

you needn’t worry.

I’ve kept my secrets buried and

I can keep yours, too.

Winter may come and freeze my soul,

spring will thaw my heart,

but I won’t be careless and let it slip.

I love you too much for that.




Cher Bibler is the author of one book of poetry, California, California. She has worked as editor of Amanda Blue, a poetry magazine, and co-editor of a literary magazine, the Wastelands Review. She was a fiction reader for the Mid American Review and worked as poetry editor for the Heartlands Review. She was a book reviewer for Literary Zoo.

 She was a founding member of the alternative band Tinfoil, as bass/rhythm guitarist, singer and songwriter. Over their career, they released 12 albums. One of their songs, People Don’t Know, will be featured in an indie film, Certainty, directed by Keith Mosher.

Her short story, Not Waving But Drowning, was a winner in the annual NOBS competition, and her current novel, Billie, was a finalist in last year’s (2011) Faulkner competition.  Her poem, Merida, Easter, is in the current issue of The Evergreen Review.

She resides in Mérida, Yucatán, Mexico, is in the process of forming a new band, and serves as the content editor of In Other Words: Mérida.

Art by Judith Shaw