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"squaring" poems
Every atom is lenient towards the human being streaming up from the deep root they spur laying down the perfect descending of the stars. They can take on the stellar in their deep club that shows up opening the windows up in the sky and down on to the earth cast their eyes! The slim fit sharp atom knows all the shortcuts constantly vibrating not a single star can catch nor will it ever thin out – it has the extraordinary stroke of luck. But the eyes are on the humans not over the amber.  Dreaming to be physically absorbed within the human being to be in the human’s divine proportion ever transcendental a far cry from the sun and the moon but with it both gel together!  Once they came so close almost touched the dream they rose to the occasion, squaring the circle, laser scanning through, as above so below, so humble. Submitted them without waxing lyrical took the brush off the colour bowl of the day then blindfolding the moon in the night reached out to the paragon of the phi mania, flawlessly made to measure, numerically perfect Fathima! Presented themselves before her as pure blank whereon she can jot like her chalkboard or do as she please like she could show up taking it as her shadow in silhouette, she exactly did that. Touched down on the earth, in the veil and revealed her as above so below. The ocean moved stirred the water but none saw the sunshine behind the full moon in bloom that steals the starry night. Day in day out Fathima did all in a veil she lived and gone. Keeping the atom on its toe ever honing tracing the footprint in its own shadow as once a human being without a mark crept in it lived in pi magic and leaped out!
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Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 10:53 PM UTC
Human Divine Proportion Is A Wonder
Every atom is lenient towards the human being streaming up from the deep root they spur laying down the perfect descending of the stars. They can take on the stellar in their deep club that shows up opening the windows up in the sky and down on to the earth cast their eyes! The slim fit sharp atom knows all the shortcuts constantly vibrating not a single star can catch nor will it ever thin out – it has the extraordinary stroke of luck. But the eyes are on the humans not over the amber.  Dreaming to be physically absorbed within the human being to be in the human’s divine proportion ever transcendental a far cry from the sun and the moon but with it both gel together!  Once they came so close almost touched the dream they rose to the occasion, squaring the circle, laser scanning through, as above so below, so humble. Submitted them without waxing lyrical took the brush off the colour bowl of the day then blindfolding the moon in the night reached out to the paragon of the phi mania, flawlessly made to measure, numerically perfect Fathima! Presented themselves before her as pure blank whereon she can jot like her chalkboard or do as she please like she could show up taking it as her shadow in silhouette, she exactly did that. Touched down on the earth, in the veil and revealed her as above so below. The ocean moved stirred the water but none saw the sunshine behind the full moon in bloom that steals the starry night. Day in day out Fathima did all in a veil she lived and gone. Keeping the atom on its toe ever honing tracing the footprint in its own shadow as once a human being without a mark crept in it lived in pi magic and leaped out!
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32
Hold it with nothing only behold with the eyes! Lo, this crescent Moon: The heaven's smile in the night! It’s the discovery made walking down the black moon. Without a light in the sight as if walking blindfolded but didn't go into the blue. Took a trip into the matrix without squaring the circle. With no pattern, no more decimals of pi undefined by design but found the Moon!
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Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 11:18 AM UTC
The Crescent Moon
Without a rope but squaring the circle the giant man gives it a try takes a flight off to the sky only to fall flat on the ground. She turns around gives the circle her pi. He bounces back and retakes the flight Que Sera, Sera on the way!
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Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 12:46 PM UTC
Que Sera, Sera On The Way
Located in the prime location Precisely at the right spot. Squaring up the square Laid to measure on the map. Equal each side a cube stands Aligned to the column brimful every inch. What now? ‘Looking for a margin, Wide margin in the solid core.’ Like a human wants to turn up here From every corner every nook. The star splashes into its constellation Like the sun and the moon Love to wrap around here Through the fastest route! What now? ‘Everyone wants a margin Wide margin where it matters all It couldn’t be more brimful.
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Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 5:38 PM UTC
Prime Location
thoughts fall with structure and symmetry.... as if whole your life have been drawn using a compass words break in acute angles.... retracing it back to me everywhere i turn, i end up nearing the vertex failing infinite times by squaring the circles... still i cant stop my clumsy thoughts... ellipsing my mind.... finding order in the chaos
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Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 12:18 PM UTC
**squaring the circle**
i miss the dogfight of our teeth squaring off in a shiny mirror. you could call our canines moon kernels or portents, but the sentiment is sharper. the poem tautology to a bracelet of crescent dents. self-portrait: light shadow, shadow, light. a plane reflecting other planes, an edge biting an edge, biting an edge, bitten. the bracelet tautology to a skyline sans sky, one wedge of evening held in your periphery. i press my fingers into a warm glass throat.
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Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
the better self
'A triangle on the mount of mercury is certainly an auspicious sign' Thumping percussion of a native beat in my head, a gyrating hindsight The evening streams down pouring streaks of grey and mangled orange Walking past a bicycle chained to railings front wheel mangled into a rough square Squaring a circle, huh? How did that happen? two thumps and a sonant beat...and again... I see you sipping latte by Nero. Mangled, stream out of your eyes many coloured triangles rushing, wheeling at me. Vibrant beat, gyrating bottoms. The mercury is soaring. Ululations. The night-witch has charmed the city in her cloak. Stars, oh, I see mangled triangles out of her hat.
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Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
Palmistry for beginners
Investment Principles: Staying the course, your owned love will not fail you ~~~~ Staying the course means going against your own emotions at times. when weeping is easier than squaring the jaw, gritting teeth Staying the course means thinking and acting for the long term even when it doesn’t feel right in the short-term. *lost loving, when the other walks away, and being brave is the only path, brace, and excise that stooped shoulder, stand straight!* Staying the course means preparing not predicting. *predict only that hope is eternal, perpetual and maybe, just, around the corner* Stay the course means doing nothing when that’s what your plan calls for. ~~~ steady the breathing, ok, now! wipe the tears, be resolved that once tasted, love, is human, though inimitable, and your sunrises will return inevitable and the return on investment unbelievable
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Jun 23, 2023
Jun 23, 2023 at 8:30 AM UTC
Sound Investment Principles: Staying the course (your owned love will not fail you)
He touched our hands But unconcernedly this famous man And would not look us in the eye For fear of contact or what might be worse, connection And we could hardly blame him, for after all He had each day been singled out for close inspection By ones like us, in awe of his celebrity Circled in the shade of his perfection Hoping for the star-dust sprinkle of acuity Or sparkling eyes, admission to his inner cult and clan He wore blue jeans And scuffed sneakers as a badge of proof Of his coolness and unconcern While we his audience with concealed attention Enviously eyed his hairy confidence, unconsciously Imitating in each phrase that low convention Made small adjustments to our store-bought suits and ties And nodded several times in bright pretension Made small amendments to our smiles and lies Flicked photo-phones in pursuit of custom and routine He gave a speech A flippant interview, this famous creature A well tossed phrase, a rounded cliche Poured forth like brandy in a glass, convivial Or apple cider-ed vinegar in pewter mugs A sardonically French-accented phrase habitual Well humored, heavy lidded with testosterone At interlocutor women with the pens and pads Delivered in a low and purring monotone For all the world as lovers, each to each He stretched a smile A modulated shift of teeth and beard "Genius? Not I"  with deprecation "My shallow intellect, so poor and so ephemeral" Delivered in a tone that mocked inclusion While we assumed an elegance, unintentional A nonchalance that shields the wide charades Unmoving in our breathless, but conventional Genuflection to the the notion that pervades                                                       Our addictive appetite now sated. For a while.                                                                                                                                  He kissed their cheeks And stroked their arms, with sensuous ambivalence But absently, as if he cared so little In his farewell. 'A bientot' he said and 'Au revoir' And slipped away amongst the moving Milan crowds Creative and creator, irredeemably a star With, in his wake the smiling scriveners staring At his retreating back in Stark excitement In the middle of the circling and squaring, at The alpha-wolfic effigy. The Shepherd and his sheep.
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May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 6:46 AM UTC
This Famous Creature
He touched our hands But unconcernedly this famous man And would not look us in the eye For fear of contact or what might be worse, connection And we could hardly blame him, for after all He had each day been singled out for close inspection By ones like us, in awe of his celebrity Circled in the shade of his perfection Hoping for the star-dust sprinkle of acuity Or sparkling eyes, admission to his inner cult and clan He wore blue jeans And scuffed sneakers as a badge of proof Of his coolness and unconcern While we his audience with concealed attention Enviously eyed his hairy confidence, unconsciously Imitating in each phrase that low convention Made small adjustments to our store-bought suits and ties And nodded several times in bright pretension Made small amendments to our smiles and lies Flicked photo-phones in pursuit of custom and routine He gave a speech A flippant interview, this famous creature A well tossed phrase, a rounded cliche Poured forth like brandy in a glass, convivial Or apple cider-ed vinegar in pewter mugs A sardonically French-accented phrase habitual Well humored, heavy lidded with testosterone At interlocutor women with the pens and pads Delivered in a low and purring monotone For all the world as lovers, each to each He stretched a smile A modulated shift of teeth and beard "Genius? Not I"  with deprecation "My shallow intellect, so poor and so ephemeral" Delivered in a tone that mocked inclusion While we assumed an elegance, unintentional A nonchalance that shields the wide charades Unmoving in our breathless, but conventional Genuflection to the the notion that pervades                                                       Our addictive appetite now sated. For a while.                                                                                                                                  He kissed their cheeks And stroked their arms, with sensuous ambivalence But absently, as if he cared so little In his farewell. 'A bientot' he said and 'Au revoir' And slipped away amongst the moving Milan crowds Creative and creator, irredeemably a star With, in his wake the smiling scriveners staring At his retreating back in Stark excitement In the middle of the circling and squaring, at The alpha-wolfic effigy. The Shepherd and his sheep.
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50
My Radius    Mine distance 'tween the center of mine       and my edges ('cause I am not exactly            spherical, Varies, I guess) The differences divided           by a varying circumference diameters changing       makes it SO hard to divide the pi squaring it   (or trying to multiply by zero) Makes absolutely zero sense             poses more questions than geometry or algebra, (far as I know, might be a constant, somewheres) the I = me? trigonometrical nonsense?
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May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 12:18 AM UTC
Radii
One, A solitary number, So alone, all by itself, but one day, without notice, came another one to help, And when they were together, just whenever, they were two, I like to think that I'm one, and the other one is you, Our feelings like a plus sign, With them we add up, Hope we never get divided, Even when the math get tough, No matter the equation, (Situation) You'll be mine, and even during Algebra, I know that we'll be fine, I used to be so odd, Until you turned me even, Now I'm always happy, and you're the only reason, I love being with you and friends, like 3.1415, He's always such a character, and always brings us Pi, I try to be your hero, and sometimes I break the rules, like dividing things by zero, but that just makes us look like fools, You make my smile rise, and to you'll ill always run, No matter how big the slope, If you call me I will come, While I was squaring A, and you were busy squaring B, We didn't notice C squared, was the answer, you and me, Of me you'll always have a part, with out you I'm a fraction, No word problems or numbers, can ever solve this strong attraction, I hope no other one, will ever be half of your two, because the only correct answer, is if you add up me and you!
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Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 5:20 PM UTC
1+1
Beer bellies in sun, Green grass in a fast circle Squaring like trailers.
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Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 1:15 PM UTC
NASCAR
Above all monsters that linger in the dark. Love is one that can take many shapes and forms. A tug of the bed spread or the seal of closet doors. No matter how tight they are pressed. Still it finds a way to seep through. Waiting to take you by the arm the very moment your eyes start to close. Reminding you of that one thought you keep suppressed of all things. Keeping you awake for just a moment longer. Eyes that long for a deep sleep. Peering over a sea of fabric. The ***** of an arrow digging into an unexpected feeling. Climbing from beneath the bed or the crack of the closet. Reminding you of the thing you somewhat regret. With the one person you can't seem to stop thinking about. That cupid, appearing with a sly grin. Dressed as the boogie man, blending into shadows, dark red loafers. Just as your moseying off to sleep. There he stands, squaring his shoulders. Remembering all the late night trips you took to the fridge. Who would have took cupid as a gymnast. Hiding here or there. Or a health nut that despises anything outside of strawberry hearts
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Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 12:50 PM UTC
Foodies And Cupid
I'm standing on a square. A metre each way, a square If I move I'll fall off this square is squaring me up, squinting at me Learning it has power over me This square is all I am This square is scaring me. I think it's made of wood, a wooden square Solid yet creaking this wooden square rotting beneath me, a square that snares me, spares me the fall I'd have without it This square stares at me. I know every part of this, this square it squeaks this square, at me this square I have walked to all it's corners but this square that squared me up and squawked at me, squealed and stammered under my feet It became my home, this square that ensnared me, still stares at me but continues to spare me is starting to show me, At least now I know where I stand.
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Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 7:11 PM UTC
Squared
Standing on the edge of the world Wind rushing through my hair I lift up my arms And cry out to the emptiness before me The nothingness calls back My name carried on the breeze A blatant reminder of the humanity I’ve left far behind One step further is all it would take To leave the familiar for good To fall endlessly into the lonely abyss Turning a cold shoulder Closing my eyes I make my move One great leap The blackness consumes me Swallows me whole The wind picks back up A spins me around I open my eyes Only to find I’m sitting on that ledge Legs swinging in the breeze Squaring my shoulders Back facing the wind I let out a sigh And a shout of frustration The world refuses still to let me go So here I remain Conscious and pensive Waiting for my moment Biding my time.
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Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 10:35 PM UTC
Standing On The Edge Of The World
after looking in on how Jen's selections were faring they indicated that they'd be very nicely squaring was pleasing to see most of them reaching the front cover's face only the odd one was put in another compartment's space it so gladdened Jen when her options got colossal views she has a consistency in this area which make for better reviews those pieces she's given a re-showing are set to be bathed with a bright glowing oh yes dear Jen can't be beat on choosing something real neat
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Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 7:58 AM UTC
Something Real Neat
“It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing. It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive. It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human. It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithlessand therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty, every day,and if you can source your own life from its presence. I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!” It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children. It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back. It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.” ― Oriah Mountain Dreamer
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Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
The Invitation
“It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing. It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive. It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human. It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithlessand therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty, every day,and if you can source your own life from its presence. I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!” It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children. It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back. It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.” ― Oriah Mountain Dreamer
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12
I aim my camera at the cage wondering where the challenge ran off to as the creature stands helplessly like a lightweight squaring off against a circling heavyweight
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Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 10:03 PM UTC
FinePix S5200 at the zoo
Would you be the Lard then, The Lard o' these lands ? <The Lard !!! I ain't the Lard of anything! I'm the Laird of these lands, yes! If that's what you mean.> The Laird, eh! So there's no Duck or Duchess over     them then. <Duck! You mean Duke, no Duke or     Duchess !!! Ain't no Dooks or Dutchesses around    here Mon! > Then what about the Goose, The Goose of Gainly Hall. <The Goose!!! What Goose ? It's a ghost not a goose, The Ghost of Gainly Hall ! Only goose I can see around here is     you Begone you unruly Mon, Begone!> Unruly Mon is it ! Unruly Mon !!!    (squaring up to the Laird) ...Heh! I'll nay fight ye, yer not worth it The Big Lairdy Mon I'll go off and alight some place else Just like the Goose, the Goose of Gainly     Hall !!! ............Hey Big Mon!!! The Goose! He's     loose!! He's gone!!!
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Sep 21, 2019
Sep 21, 2019 at 12:44 PM UTC
The Goose of Gainly Hall
whirl, whirr, whee, 'round, back again -- squaring loops slinging hoops wandering why stay on the hill tonight
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Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
i only tell myself i cannot cease my revolutions
I stand. Surrounded by the darkness That I create. I wave it away. It hovers out of reach. Close enough to been seen, Far enough away to relax. Fear, doubt, anxiety. Fear, clawing. Doubt, with sharp teeth. Anxiety, with its insect touch. And lord of all, depression, With his dark cloak ready To blot out the light. Squaring shoulders. Narrowing of eyes. I stand, drawing a sword of light, Names engraved on the blade. They give me strength. The ones that depend on me to Never quit, never submit, never stop. And yet, no matter how the fight ends I stand. They stand. We stare at each other. Stalemate. For now. I will never quit. Nor will they. They are part of me.
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May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
Demons
After a lifetime spent Bent On rounding off the corners Of any square thought Has brought Me... Full circle So many times I'm beginning to see winning as an abstract A pathogen Getting stronger As if the the efforts I produce The patient's I'm rewarded with As I have achieved success Like penicillin Only has a limited lifespan And an exponential inconsequential Failure rate That soon begins to insulate As the mutated corners Become mutant appendages As  they grow back Not abstract Simply as a fact There just seems to me That too many people Just want to be dragged along Creating heat sparks and friction Like an addiction Instead of letting it all roll And it's taking a toll On the faith In my soul Knowing that a lifetime Bent on rounding off the corners Of any square thought Has brought me.. . .... full circle
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Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 5:03 PM UTC
Squaring up while I'm still round
Sophia closed the front door of her parents' house after seeing Benedict go off home. Her father was in the lounge sitting crossed legged in his armchair. Her mother was clearing the table in silence. You were a long time seeing him off, her father said in Polish. Sophia looked at her father as she passed him by to sit on the sofa, just saying goodnight, she replied in Polish. It takes that long to say goodnight? Just a last few words and a kiss, she said. In my day we just say goodnight, a kiss, then off to leave the young girl to be home, he said. His features were stiff, unsmiling. He doesn't know our ways, she said, sitting down on the sofa. Then he must learn, if he is to continue going with you, the father said, squaring his shoulders. I will tell him, she said, thinking of the moment she and Benedict had made love in her bed the last time, how she loved it, him there making her feel so fulfilled at the same time fearing the parents might return any moment from the dinner dance of the Polish families in the area. If not, I will speak to him, her father said like some Mafia godfather. Yes father, I will tell him, she said, seeing Benedict standing naked by the bed, and she lying there open to him, and so warm and so hot. He has gone? her mother said coming into the lounge from the kitchen clearing the last items from the table. Yes he has gone, the father said. Her mother looked at Sophia: I don't understand a word he say, the mother said, does he not speak any Polish? No he doesn't, Sophia said, (only a few swear words she had taught him which made him laugh.) He come again? The mother asked the father. Yes if he learn our ways, the father said. Sophia smiled weakly, thinking of Benedict that time in her parents' bed, beneath the crucifix on the wall, and she saying: more more. He will learn, she said, looking at her father's slippers, she going red.
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Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 2:11 AM UTC
AFTER THAT IS THIS 1969.
Sophia closed the front door of her parents' house after seeing Benedict go off home. Her father was in the lounge sitting crossed legged in his armchair. Her mother was clearing the table in silence. You were a long time seeing him off, her father said in Polish. Sophia looked at her father as she passed him by to sit on the sofa, just saying goodnight, she replied in Polish. It takes that long to say goodnight? Just a last few words and a kiss, she said. In my day we just say goodnight, a kiss, then off to leave the young girl to be home, he said. His features were stiff, unsmiling. He doesn't know our ways, she said, sitting down on the sofa. Then he must learn, if he is to continue going with you, the father said, squaring his shoulders. I will tell him, she said, thinking of the moment she and Benedict had made love in her bed the last time, how she loved it, him there making her feel so fulfilled at the same time fearing the parents might return any moment from the dinner dance of the Polish families in the area. If not, I will speak to him, her father said like some Mafia godfather. Yes father, I will tell him, she said, seeing Benedict standing naked by the bed, and she lying there open to him, and so warm and so hot. He has gone? her mother said coming into the lounge from the kitchen clearing the last items from the table. Yes he has gone, the father said. Her mother looked at Sophia: I don't understand a word he say, the mother said, does he not speak any Polish? No he doesn't, Sophia said, (only a few swear words she had taught him which made him laugh.) He come again? The mother asked the father. Yes if he learn our ways, the father said. Sophia smiled weakly, thinking of Benedict that time in her parents' bed, beneath the crucifix on the wall, and she saying: more more. He will learn, she said, looking at her father's slippers, she going red.
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113
I twirled with the Devil to watch You get jealous And With his final Bow I knew we Had finally learned To Dance
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Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 10:49 PM UTC
Squaring Off