Magic Theatre Poetry Reading
I wanted to eat you. I did not understand
your power, the slick sleaze of it. Your legs
uncrossed, offered but not mentioned –
what was it you wanted? You said:
friendship, to repent and a chance to right
the wrong – yours, which you tossed
around like oriflammes, flares of orange.
Are you fireworks? A chimney? What is it
that makes red, the birdlike heart of you
tick? You seemed careless, oblivious,
or scared – you must have been running,
running away from it awhile. Who told
the younger you that she had to say yes,
find ways to make others say yes,
no matter the pricelist of cars, tickets,
broken teacups, reputation. We could
have been Siamese sisters, friends, or
mere acquaintances, but desire, but lust:
you wanted to be me, wanted to drink,
to fill your cup, gorge on the sap, but found
no anchor, no strip pole around
which to tie that tether. You said you
needed to cut it, took out the butter knife
in tears – honey, honey, put it down,
please: there was never a string.
Springtime (Ada by the Shore)
Pretty pile of white wooden cubes,
red roofs: village we’ve left behind – elongating
their shadows in the morning sun,
the pine trees took us here.
(The church bells ring, ding, dong.)
The sun already high and white
when we sit by the lake. Boatmen –
they have gone out for lunch. In silence,
we observe: large strokes of green,
purple, on the opposite shore. (She leaned
and told me a secret which I cannot write here.)
Song of the daffodil, crocus, primrose,
the pennyworth. Her eyes: the same blue
as the lake, tranquil. Around, a line
of purple, deep, seized from the crest
of the hilltops ablaze. A gentle breeze.
The pine trees stand silent. Time: obliterated.
(The clock of my heart skips a step.)