(no subject)
A poem I wrote last night after reading Ann Carson's "Beauty of the Husband."
After love was mutually impossible
I entered a new place. I call it
"The time when I can count a different man on each finger
of my left hand."
The danger to lust for.
The gifts. The pain in my lower back
can you be a little bit softer please?
The impossible.
My right hand, well earned,
kneading the dough into a ball on top of me.
The panic.
Revealing.
The SUNY Purchase Pandora.
The monster under my bed with such
a hot tattoo on his forearm.
Ropes and wax which you and you and you
thought were only for you to walk out
feeling a little nasty
to do all that work which was piling up.
Finger puppets.
That work which was piling up.
After love was mutually impossible
I entered a new place. I call it
"The time when I can count a different man on each finger
of my left hand."
The danger to lust for.
The gifts. The pain in my lower back
can you be a little bit softer please?
The impossible.
My right hand, well earned,
kneading the dough into a ball on top of me.
The panic.
Revealing.
The SUNY Purchase Pandora.
The monster under my bed with such
a hot tattoo on his forearm.
Ropes and wax which you and you and you
thought were only for you to walk out
feeling a little nasty
to do all that work which was piling up.
Finger puppets.
That work which was piling up.