Words Much Like Poetry
the hole in your heart, filled it with the mortar and bricks
I brought into this world—the angels told me, as I was held
in the nurturing waters of life, I would need them one day.
In September, I betrayed you, October found forgiveness
a new home, but by January, I hadn’t seen you in weeks.
When I did, you bundled me into a rocket and launched me
at the eternal sky—I landed somewhere between Castor
and Pollux. Merry gentleman boys that they were, I
eventually lost my ability to distinguish them and nicknamed them
the Gemini man, humph! before long Jason bade him
marry me. So, the Argo made port in the western province
of the home where my soul resides; that was late March. While there
a faithful man repeated my cue, from then on one became my number.
An ancient age or a few years passed, by then the Argo had sailed,
dust trails the only evidence it ever existed. My family summoned me.
Expectantly, I packed lightly—the little pieces of myself I couldn’t do
without. The Gemini man was left on the dry land we made our home.
So summoned, I flew into my kin’s little lasting embrace. Once released
from their fold, I bought myself a river and sang the blues at its side.
A Virgin strolling by heard my song, he swayed well to the rhythm
and together we danced. Ah, but that less then pure vestal soon tired
of my despair, my hopes, my ambitions, even my dreams. He trilled gleefully
to the meadowlark that had been circling above for some time,
just as gleefully the meadowlark—the symbol I bequeathed unto
my poverty—spread its wings, casting me in shadow.
The meadowlark still peers down at me, in the eight years that have passed
since our late summer love, its gracious perch upon the withered stump
of the once life tree remains unshakable. I wonder if you’ve torn down
the mortar and bricks I laid, if so, cracked and broken as they might be,
can I borrow them?
