belief

a love poem

 

 

 

Seeing me like this is to put me back together

like the bones of the stegosaur, one, two,

attach a limb, a lip a thigh bone, and then

imagine what it's like, me fully assembled,

happy and proud, tithing the bottom land

with my fist balled up, wearing my new

jean outfit.

 

There are no shadows in the pitch-black.

But somehow I spoke too soon; that creature

under your bed, little girl, is no dust bunny,

nor a raging apple cheeked lepra on the

thirteenth day, barmitzvah, with no more

responsibilities as a spring wind in a cracked

window has to cool off the wrong swelter.

There are no more monsters, than me, hiding

in the closet of languages. The trap doors have

all been nailed shut. Though the breezeway,

unparticled, might just hold a hank or two.

 

The grown folks mean and it is meant

as calligraphy,elegant lettering on the

tee shirts of time forgotten. Time streached from

the bus station in Detroit to California with the

disappointment of an empty house.

If I write your name with the yellow chalk

in the black sand and then stand back,

the tide will, sooner or later, wash the

yielding eponyms away and together

dim the night air, as chatoyant cherries

loosing their luster in mid air.Stupid me

 

up late night writing cinquain, five line stanzas of love

and love and love again, and love repeating again

as a Galahad seeks whats holy, with careful word,

in your silk or satin; that unties the merriwidow

tongue with the garters still attached for grace.

 

Your pipit love song has put mileage on me

like Mothers old Honda, but has me looking

under every skirt,

sagacious for

tomorrows lace.

 

 

Reviews

[caesarkreshen]

I like it a lot.

[sienikeha]

excellent. thoughtful. striking.
your ability to conjure images, the way the words mingle, interact --just gorgeous!

[Emily B]

a new favorite