Charming and honest--a rare
enough combination. Combustible.
Burns the face they mix behind
into little floating frays.
This was the best and most
immediate clarity about her:
she was foremost a person
before she was a woman.
Personhood, she told me
once, blotto and hanging her
big smile over the railing,
was what she'd negotiated
from the weird biological
tumult of womanhood.
I never knew what that meant,
except this, belatedly:
the consequences
of me being a man.
Her arm around me
was like being carried
by the rolling force
of a wave. Summon up,
arch, one collapsing step
forward, down. The
dissolve the terms of her gorgeousness.
Which she left behind, with
the utmost affection,
to curl up full height
and shatter her
growing shadow, again.
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1 comment:
What do you know...I'm writing poetry again.
October 8th counting down.
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