Thursday, October 29, 2009


Golden dimpling light, the short green spikes of Iris dead remain
Cut to please the neighbors before the freezing rain, November comes
And in this moment’s gesture, arm outstretched, remember longing, for it’s pain
I love my life if only for this momentary fire in the brain, a flash, and that’s enough

Can’t say I ever loved myself. I felt defective from the start.
Not good enough for anybody’s love, it was my shame.
I have been told, “You’re pretty.” What does it mean in any way that matters?
Why not the ecstasy of adolescent longing? Why not the waiting by the phone?
I hate the whipsaw of control and need. I’d rather die alone

A leapt into the void without the faith that anything would hold
Crossing on the Michelangelo. Accompanied by a charming thief
I climbed the winding, narrowing streets of Rome. Accosted naked in a baking
Windblown room, I ran and never loved a man who loved me too
I spent my life retreating from desire. What makes me think that words will save me now?

A picture of a naked child, she sit and stirs the dirt, her smile just barely there, sublime.
The dog attends ears pricked and staring at the camera, he keeps them all away
She’ll always know the safety of this guard, the only one who never leaves
The danger of the man who disappears. I look away and find a rapture
In the glade, a patch of dirt, the dog, the memory of the man. I smile, and that’s enough


Randal Graves said...

Everything transpires, yet leaves an imprint behind, our internal palimpsest.

anita said...

ha ... randal, are a man among men in my book for being capable of using the word 'palimpsest.'

Utah Savage said...

Damn Randal, you're good!

Anita, It always delights me that you visit me. Thanks for hanging in there. I know it hasn't always been easy. I echo your admiration for a man who not only uses the word 'palimpsest' but uses it well.