Poetry Rides Again

It’s been a while since I posted one of my poems. (Sorry, life got in the way). But I’m back, and so are they.


Dove Memory

 

I pasted the poem, a sonnet, by

Edna St. Vincent Millay

above my bed, and hung it below

the pink wallhanging bestowed

upon me by Mother’s last craft sale.

 

Edna says:

            “I find this frenzy insufficient reason

            for conversation when me meet again.”

 

I pasted the poem, a sonnet by

Edna St. Vincent Millay

above my cold bed, not for my sake

but yours. Since you chose to break

your ties with my body, shale

stiffness has set my waist

to rest upon beds placed

in rooms cold with indifference.

A new touch from you—deliverance

from all those things chill and hard—

is all I require, but I’ve been barred

from your vocabulary. Send

me a message, like one you meant

yesterday with eyes behind

small glasses, that you won’t mind

putting my waist back in its place.

Make soft what is chill in the space

of a glimpse, the time it takes

doves to open their eyes to wake.

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