An Unwise Man Said to Me

I still love every woman who loved me.
I loved them all, and many more besides,
The ones who succoured me through dangerous tides,
The ones who suckered me relentlessly,
Even the ones insisting I was free,
Having enthralled me. I daydream of brides,
Of narrow straits and reckless suicides,
Of picnics underneath a shady tree.

I understand their feelings changed. I do,
Though mine would not. Sure, someone broke my heart,
Insulted me, mocked me. I wasn’t smart,
I was a willing victim, sad but true,
Letting affection rule. But “endless rue”?
No; fierce love underpins this, and all art.

Deep, Like Truth

Your heart shines, glittering like silverplate,
But I believe the truth, so deep and stark,
Shows through: we see you shining in the dark,
Your skin transparent as a mayfly’s fate,
The organ in such an appalling state,
As roughened and scarred as old redwood bark,
Showing what looks to be a maker’s mark
From some feckless source, never known or great.

It isn’t plate, though, is it? What I fear
Is that this tarnish anyone can see
Runs deep, like truth. Somebody once told me
That steel beneath the silver keeps it clear.
Your heart is made of silver, so I hear,
Without that core of steel you’ve claimed falsely.

On Every Day

Envelop me in camphor, like a child
Two, maybe three long generations back,
Watch how my eyes tear, sallow cheeks gone slack,
Noticing how I’m tender, holy, and mild.
I’ve been beset, bewildered and beguiled,
And maybe ended up somewhat off track,
Unmoored, unhinged, my front teeth turning black.
I’ve been reduced, rejected and reviled.

Don’t check the calendar. On every day
Some travesty occurs to slash, draw blood,
And leave our enemies deep in the mud
Without even a chance to slink away
And save themselves. It was the month of May
When I took sick, and called forth the Great Flood.