psst psst

I am back in Memphis, and have just finished moving every piece of paper and clothing back into my old community.  With moving comes getting rid of...so I was diligently going through those old pieces of paper that needed to be discarded and saw some scraps of poetry-some finished, some just scribbled.  So I have tried to make sense of some of the scribbles.

June 17, 2007

psst psst

Don’t tell me all is well

Tell me tears and anger

I tell you I don’t know how I’m supposed to live without her

You tell me

 

“That vase came from the woman who does my hair.”

 

psst psst

 

“Those beetles are just destroying my garden.  What are they called?  Jasper? Japanese?”

 

Tell me you’re here, you’re solid-

Full of mass

So that I can hit and stain you with tears

 

Tears she cannot cry, mass I cannot hit;

Presence that is now just a breath.

_________________________

Again, June 17, 2007

Lamentation

Don't forgive me.

Then I would have to say,

"I'm not strong enough"..."I didn't love you"

For I bit and chewed and swallowed

Not your meal

But one I thought more evocative than wine

and savory than bread.

Don't forgive me.

For I desired eyes made of sunflowers

Rather than the intimacy of your sight, o God.

*

*

Forgive me.

For I am ash

in need of flame.