Sunday, September 12, 2010


Golden dimpling light, the short green spikes of Iris dead remain
Cut to please the neighbors before the freezing rain, October 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 leap into the void without the faith that anything will 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
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, and that's enough.

©2008 Peggy Pendleton


Jennyablue said...

I love you! How can you not love you? Your words are passionate, filled with desire and understanding. Write on dear Savage. Thanks for posting Glade, again. xo

Utah Savage said...

Jenny, it's time to cut the Iris. And I have nothing much to say these days.

And don't forget, it's easier to love someone you don't know than it is to love yourself, especially if you grew up hearing how very unlovable you were.

Fran said...

You've got soul & your words flow sweetly even though tinged with some despair.
But you are honest & open, knowing of yourself.

You have come a long way.
The cutting of the Iris is a part of the circle of life.
A time to ready for winter. Savor the Indian summer, the colors of fall, where sweaters & hot tea make sense.
Turn turn turn (can you hear the Byrds singing this tune?)