Meet me in 1972In the damp Maryland pine
lined basement of my mother’s
rowhouse. Follow me down
Winans Way into the woods,
where Leakin Park hides
the fairies and discarded corpses.
Follow me to the trickle of the Patapsco
snaking at the lowest ebb. Soft earth
pillowing every step, moss dense,
emerald clotted, and sunlit gems
swimming through the leaves.
No one comes here.
Follow me to 1972
In hip hugger bell bottoms,
Hirachi sandals, jasmine scented
wrists, steel convictions, walking on
ether and the Doors; substantial ground.
The canopy thickens, the moss lush,
gather up my hair in your fingers,
braid it down my back, pull my shoulders
toward your chest. Circling
our arms, like a moon cycling
full within a grove of old Maryland
oaks, within our embrace, peace,
quiet, comfort, rapture, joy.
The falcons circle
mistaking us for carion.
Meet me in 1972, before I
ran away.
1 comment:
Circling
our arms, like a moon cycling
full within a grove of old Maryland
oaks, within our embrace, peace,
quiet, comfort, rapture, joy.
OVID--
...........Ars Amatoria (The Art of Love)
If you want to be loved, be lovable. They come to see; they come that they themselves may be seen. I, 99. Compare: "And for to see, and eek for to be seie", Geoffrey Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales, "The Wif of Bathes Prologue", line 6134.
If you want to be loved, be lovable. Variant: To be loved, be lovable.
II, 107.
Post a Comment