ON THE THIRD MONTH... Woo Hoo!
This poem I dedicate to all my Malatean friends because I miss you so much and I know that somehow, you also get this feeling, too. And we all know it sucks. And yet we know that we will get through..
The Dangers of This Craft
For your own good, do not claim to be a poet.
-- advice of a well-meaning friend.
How we sing, even as we are boiled alive.
Those who torment us strain to sustain
Our last notes. In a landscape
Of sameness, our crooked towers scrape
Sensibilities, the well-trained eye.
Why, when we starved, do we thrive?
Remembrance of childhood’s bread
Rising. The taste of dulcified
Droppings of air. Our well-
Meaning friends beg us, please,
Speak in the measured tones
Of the mediocre. Show off
Our mastery of muteness,
The ambidextrous virtuosity
Of work-stained hands. Let
Those knitting needles, heavy-
Handled axes fly. Why must
We hear voices? See the moving
Parts of still objects? And so,
We insist we no longer see
Through whitewashed walls.
We confess our dreams of flying
Have ceased. We scheme,
The miracle of money keeping us
Awake. Our pleasure lies
In memorizing the exactness
Of recipes. We are found to be
Most eloquent when quiet, even
As we argue happily with the teeming
Inhabitants opening doors in our heads.
We stare seemingly unmoved at the fire
Of our burning books, all the while
Enthralled, reading secrets in the flames.
They think they’ve killed us off
Even as somewhere, everywhere, a child
Recalls the beat of the ocean womb.
They dance upon our tombs, unaware
Of how they have fallen
Victim to the rhythm
Of our singing bones.
-- Fatima Lim -Wilson
This next poem, I dedicate to James. A little backstory on this: I wrote him a letter on our second month anniversary and included a copy of this. And then he went to me and told me how much he loved it and that it should be our poem. Then he added, "Do you really think the gods will be jealous of us?"
I thought that was just the sweetest thing, evah!!
The Beginning of Things
Tonight, we make up our own legends.
As we go along, we discover
Buried treasure. Why, when
Touched, does skin raise rows
Of budding flowers, a castle,
Lightning shows? Did you hear
Of the two lovers too entwined
They made the gods so jealous
They had to spend their entire lives
Aching for each other, one turned
Into a rock, the other a bay?
Only, for a few minutes each day
With the tide could they, with rage
And mad laughter, embrace. And so,
I recall their tragedy in the midst
Of our pleasure, taking even more
Time to name and rename the sudden
Dip between the waist and hip,
The regions where lips rest most
At home. I conjure up a full
Moon, chant a forbidden word
Three times, and stir in our
Bed, pool in whose clear water
Of locked limbs, shared breath.
The answers now come flying
Like a winged horse or gold coins
Spilling from a magic purse.
Barefoot, I dance through fire.
I tower over trees. And I bring
To you, still smoking and warm,
The beggar hands of a goddess.
-- Fatima Lim -Wilson
On the other side of things, I am counting the days towards the U2 concert. I just can't wait!!!! Waaaa...