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suzanne-wilson-regaliaPoems
This is my poem without words         my poem of images enrobed in     oppressive silence like the         pressing of a Salem witch     who is really just a girl in tears and a bonnet: You asked what I would do     if you died and I said   "I would have you cremated and    I would have your ashes,     at least a bit of them, mixed          into a bit of red glass     fashioned into a heart-shaped   kiss and    I would wear it around my neck         on a silver silk chord . . .              a silver silk chord . . .              except when I venture out on               a date with a familiar stranger             because you will not                                               have been introduced and                the rest of you    I would sprinkle here and         there to haunt the old brick buildings I love and the sharp angry mountains you love and                               here and         there to feed the verdant grasses our toes haven't ever moved."     You raised an eyebrow         askance, saying,   "You've thought about this quite      a bit," but this is a lie I let you hold     a pork bun of a brown bird with a         backward-bent wing which you rest in a wooden puzzle box   wrapped in a velvet pouch     sewn into a heart-shaped pillow       locked in a three-sided room and on the ceiling    a hand-painted truth:         I never thought the choice would   be mine.
0
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 2:42 PM UTC
Be Mine
This is my poem without words         my poem of images enrobed in     oppressive silence like the         pressing of a Salem witch     who is really just a girl in tears and a bonnet: You asked what I would do     if you died and I said   "I would have you cremated and    I would have your ashes,     at least a bit of them, mixed          into a bit of red glass     fashioned into a heart-shaped   kiss and    I would wear it around my neck         on a silver silk chord . . .              a silver silk chord . . .              except when I venture out on               a date with a familiar stranger             because you will not                                               have been introduced and                the rest of you    I would sprinkle here and         there to haunt the old brick buildings I love and the sharp angry mountains you love and                               here and         there to feed the verdant grasses our toes haven't ever moved."     You raised an eyebrow         askance, saying,   "You've thought about this quite      a bit," but this is a lie I let you hold     a pork bun of a brown bird with a         backward-bent wing which you rest in a wooden puzzle box   wrapped in a velvet pouch     sewn into a heart-shaped pillow       locked in a three-sided room and on the ceiling    a hand-painted truth:         I never thought the choice would   be mine.
Written by
suzanne-wilson-regalia
American
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 2:42 PM UTC
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