Thursday, August 23, 2012

Sundry Sorrows



She sat on the couch,
placed her knees
together, clasped
her hands, 
and looked.

(Even as she forges her own identity,
his influence
is never far.)

Aphrodite,
morning star,
guttering,
guide me.

Lucifer,
fallen angel,
sauntering,
lead me.

Vishna,
myriad armed,
grasping void,
crush me.

Noah,
savior of beast,
sputtering,
rescue me.

She was afraid.
She thought of you,
thought you might 
do something
to stop them.

Black coffee,
a warm orange,
a day's meal.

Three weeks later,
on a Sunday afternoon,
in the kitchen,
he was fixing sandwiches.
She sat across the table,
her eyes
on the clock:
2:36.

"Stay a while. Don't go. 
Please stay."

Staring at a block,
sunlight coined, millions
of motes suspended,
her mind wandered.

A month later,
except for wishing her
good luck,
when she returned from Nassau,
a gold band on her finger,
he never spoke to her
again.

Now
is the time
we gather to extoll
the powerless,
the worms tunneled in humus
and loam,
the shadowed,
the waterfront after
midnight,
movers in red.

We raise a glass.

The waiter placed
the plate on the table
with a clack.