What I owe you

It isn't that I think I owe you

money or reward

or even anything I'd ever give you

except gratitude acknowledged

for teasing me to

kiss you

and wanting you to tell me

and for bidding me to

cast off my worthless chains.

You shocked me awake

and the next morning

the memory of your words

was so intoxicating that

I was thinking of you

when talking to the priest

desire building within me

my words conveying one thing

but my body confessing another.

(from mid-2008)

Sailors and Slaves

Invisible chains

have linked me to you

and I don't think you can see them or even know they're there.

I have felt them even in your absence,

maybe especially in your absence

and in mine.

Invisible ties that bind me to you

that I will not allow to be undone

even if they burn my wrists and hurt me when I write.

When no one else is looking,

I reach down and make certain they are snug,

I draw the chain closer, tie the knot tighter.

While you are busy undoing other knots,

I am busy studying sailor knots and boy scout knots

so that I can tie mine even better than they are.

But here is what I want to say—

If one day you find out that the knots are there,

and I am chained to you and you are chained to me,

I hope you will pretend you didn't see them,

and then, when I am not looking,

tie them tighter

and look up again and smile.

(From Autumn 2008)

Fyodor and Me

"Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day

To the last syllable of recorded time,

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

And then is heard no more; it is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing."  From Macbeth, by William Shakespeare   

      I

Your silence said so much.

Without a sword

You pierced me.

Without one accusation               

You stunned me.

Pulling the knife

Out of my heart,

I dusted for fingerprints

Found they

Matched my own.

           II

Still

I held myself

To the fire

And questioned me.

Cut myself no slack.

Grand Inquisitor of Myself

As always

Worst torturer I have ever known

 I need only

 Look inward to

Find her--

Tools ready,

Weapons drawn.

(Dostoevsky meet your match.)

            III

And yet

That other me.

The one blithely

Picking flowers

Oblivious to the cyclone

Headed her way,

I found her reeling

As before

Tears once again

Spilling from

Tired eyes

Falling

Uninvited

Down weary cheeks.

I give up.

           IV

And then

Convincing myself

It was nothing

You were nothing

too

so that I could

redeem myself from folly

and pay no price but loss.

As saving oneself from the fire

One casts off the burning cloak

And leaves it behind to burn,

So I cast off hope and

Sailed it off down the river

Alone.

          V

Remembering what

It's like

Recalling how

She's like

A child

in her

silly naivete

(in what may be her

Clueless naivete;

Unreasonable, ridiculous naivete

After so much real life)

Imagined that

The one who listened

Saw past the laughter into the tears,

Saw past the birth and into the death,

Saw past the permission into the struggle,

Saw past the folly and into the lesson,

Saw past the admission and into the truth,

Saw past the confession and into her heart.

              VI

Always a surprise to recognize

--As for the first time!—

The otherness of the other.

Always brought back into reality

After orbiting planets in space.

Softly admonishing self

Yours is not the only perspective

Allowed.

Gently querying self

What did you expect?

I am not the man behind the curtain.

I am no Wizard of Oz.

I am no wizard, no Merlin.

I would rather be Arthur

Unsheathing Excelsior from the stone.

             VII

[Who am I

This me, this

forthright girl (have to wonder)

wide eyed (aren't you tired?)

curious (can't there be an end?)

self-aware (so she says)

discovering (archaeologist of the self)

observing (get her a microscope)

learning (she's not like the rest)

commenting (who asked you?)

telling (did someone ask to listen?)

teaching (do we get credit for this?)

preaching (Oh God help us all)

expounding (pour me a stiff one first)

on the self (please not again)

Must you?]

            VIII

Maybe I am just

so much sound and fury.

(from late 2008)

Have No Fear

So truly I said the words
But you did not know
How without guile or deception
I gave you all my heart.

It is only this: that
You were still afraid
Still mourning your girl
Who years ago was taken

Violently she was swept out
Of your hands your arms your
Life; it never goes away
The wishing it were a dream

I dream, too. My dreams are
Different from yours but still
Loss pours out while I sleep.
I hold your memory dear

In spite of the words you
Hurled to hurt me, a broken
Memory lies within your
Lonely English chest and

I can grant you this: enough
Love, enough grace enough
Of who I am, though you may
Never see me or ever even know

That I took your sadness with
Tender gentleness and mercy
And I wrapped it as a mother wraps
Her little one, with love, with loss.