| |
| passionflower tender |
after anne sexton
|
| |
| dear anastasia, |
| |
| the windows are whitewashed |
| with moon and rain |
| bitter hours before sun |
| i have awakened |
| to find myself well— |
| one piece— |
| but my bed remains riddled with chills. |
| |
| i left you last |
| in madison |
| where you lived among |
| campfires in october. |
| we spent the night |
| sleeping to music |
| headlights chasing squares |
| across your ceiling. |
| |
| before |
| in uruguay |
| we kept trouble in pockets |
| or on lips. |
| we walked streets |
| where alejandro and eduard knelt |
| praying for our viginity |
| to open like a bowed gift |
| to eat like strawberries. |
| we laughed even |
| as we left in november. |
| |
| we lose |
| each other |
| in fall. |
| |
| if i found you |
| you would not believe |
| i dreamt you |
| falling away from me |
| taking words |
| letters |
| memories that keep you |
| in my pocket. |
| |
| you would brush my hair |
| milky white fingers |
| glowing through darkness |
| tangles— |
| |
| promise not to leave |
| or let me go. |
| |
| you might braid you hair with mine |
| show me |
| we are twins |
| that i can hold you |
| a soft stone in my palm |
| tender. |
| |
| jan. 1997, as remembered dec. 1999,
punctuation added 3.29.04 |
| s.spachman |