A Poem by Marie Anzalone

unrequited love

for "Jack"

Contradictory- a push, a sharp intake, a drawing near,
              of something so beautiful it is unattainable in this realm, then-
                    when we embrace, in greeting or adieu, never goodbye,
   though years dance between meetings, and we grow older, wiser,
         always, the cerulean in your gaze, speaking to me of ships already sailed,
                 ports sought and left unfound, a silent resignation, a sigh, but no more,
                           of a treasure not quite unearthed.

Then joy, the certainty, the solidity, the reality of YOU-
          always, always there, a constant-
               in a world of spinning whirling uncertainty,
          a strong hand placed gently on my shoulder,
 a brush of lips against your cheek,
                and your intent for me elevates me to the status of queens-
                      yet in my resolve for decency, hopefully not once belied,
           nothing, nothing, of two decades of contradiction.

An observer would not know, could not ever guess,
                how an ache in my chest, in the heart chakra-
                        still tells me I yearn yet- for you? Perhaps-
                               or more, just maybe to recapture the idea,
                    the idea, the feeling, the concept of you.
       Beneath the stars, testing of shifting boundaries and delineations,
                  knowing without comprehending,
                            the currents that moved the barrier islands of our lives.

A fire, then, burning chastely, a torch of pure white, smokeless flame,
                 set upon a marble plinth, far atop yonder hill.
                          Do you see it, alight still? A guiding light
                                      that marked a stumbling path, so often
            I have lost count of the seconds, remembering only the days,
                         before sinew grew tired and resolve was stripped of her pride.

Have you known more joy, or sorrow, from our easy comraderie?
          I ponder such things in the night, wondering,
                    how my passing through damaged or built lives,
                              and what penance awaits a more quiet time, should it come.
I need to tell you, I think I've chosen, finally-
                  and he's a lot like you.
                        So much like you. And that, my friend,
                                 is neither contradictory nor accidental.

Please understand, I had to both embrace you, and let you go,
            simultaneously, in order that I might breathe against the crushing
                     when I think of what could have been.
                              Not a day goes by I do not remember.

© 2013 Marie Anzalone

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this seems so familiar . . .

Posted 13 Years Ago

1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

yes, here is the place to say these things, so that others who know the ways of heart rise and set and rise and set can nod for you, and say yes, it is "this thing" i carry across the years, that never says goodbye

Posted 13 Years Ago

2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

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3 Reviews
Shelved in 2 Libraries
Added on August 27, 2010
Last Updated on April 1, 2013

A Pilgrimage in Epistles: Poems as Letters and Observations


Marie Anzalone
Marie Anzalone

Xecaracoj, Quetzaltenango, Guatemala

Bilingual (English and Spanish) poet, essayist, novelist, grant writer, editor, and technical writer working in Central America. "A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to ta.. more..