Friday, June 03, 2011

THE WIRE HANGER

Many nights I have counted the steps I trudge from your end of the city back to mine
and I have turned over and over the success or failure contained in the night in my
mind whether you laughed loudest at my jokes or theirs or whether your hand on
my back felt dead or alive
And then I have laid on my back and pressed my hands against my chest to feel a
pressure to feel a weight and thought of your body above mine
I had one dream of you stone dead and I hated myself for seeing it and I told
myself I would never tell it but I have only ever wanted for you to have
everything so I pulled close to you in the morning and said it and feared it
Always I sing songs to you in the shower and I have seen your face on the other side of
the mist and I believe I know at exactly what tile your height would reach
I have named our children Bengal and Cathedral, the artist and the diplomat, those
brilliant dears, and I fry us all eggs in the morning
And it is not photosynthesis that now gives me power it is the minute you were the gifter
and I was the gifted of a stolen flower and I must remember it now and tomorrow
and I must remember it now and tomorrow
Watching you walk through the produce at the market I have wished on a star or a flower
or a fish or on whatever else you wish that I would see the same on that very day
in forty years
And I see a pomegranate on the pavement and wonder if it was the one I bought for you
89 cents and I am amazed that I have rotted quicker than it
And there we are crossing into Mexico as the peso sun rises and walking out of Africa
centuries ago and climbing the orchid dripping mount to Machu Picchu and
floating with ease belly up on the Dead Sea
I think how when this civilized world ends and you and I must eat our friends I will learn
to cook flesh best so we can finally live like kings
And when I find myself on the floor I see our hair hugging the dust in the corner and
I know I must sweep it up but I wouldn’t know what to put there instead
I hate that there are photographs of us ice statues of us because then we belong to the
eyes of others and I wish us to only live alive in your eyes and my eyes forever
Now think of the colors and shades we have seen together all the yellows and blues and
greens that occur in nature and the city grays and love reds and all the artists are envious of our eyes
I have been scared of you and marveled by you and reckoned for you and I have lied to
you and felt myself expand and collapse because of you and I have pleaded with
you and laughed at you and tried to climb inside of you and none of this should be news to you
And now if you would be so kind hand me the wire hanger that is hanging there so I
might abort this all and watch it wash away

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