in attesa mi sto al centro del mondo
Jul. 31st, 2001 03:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aslantwriting bland, unnecessary and indistinct poetry to calm my veins. i feel i am walking on stilts. my eyes weakened under these lamps and my fingertips scarred, numbed, from nothing at all.
tuesday/summer
i.
from lips and hips
forth through my sleeping skeleton rises a brief passion
in the unsure gleam of unawake, the bright bubble that breaks
easily on the light's sudden glare.
on waking i see i am utterly and blankly unknown on my tossed bed.
i am awake and nothing wakes with me.
i leave dreaming aside, meaningless, mute.
instead the unanswered day is waiting, alarmed, on the bedside table
at precisely seven forty-five in the sun bleached morning.
the futile ringing church bell on the street
melds indistinctly with the rush of traffic,
and i can see the indistinct late summer branches
dropping seeds futile, constant, on the barren infertile bricks.
a subtle wind disturbs them. i get out of bed
unable to grieve.
indistinguishable from others i walk a street hemmed by concrete,
the gutter basins filling with unwanted late-summer leaves;
a man at the church looks me unsteadily in the eye
he knows me, uncanny and suddenly: knows our shoes step
along familiar and in opposite directions,
he to the church door from the corner, i to my house.
where am i?
i reside in a city that is without walls, without commentary.
i live unshadowed in a late summer that floats barren seeds down on me.
ii.
we laughed, dark and sheltered and dim-lit in the bar,
a woman sung her song and then slammed out verse
until we cried, we shuddered with longing, laughing.
with your beer in hand i watched your profile,
thinking who am i to know another person?
in nothingness, with abandon and empty anonymous laughter,
i erase the idea of a city that does not know me.
in my bag unseen and cradled were lorca, jimenez:
the translations, unfamiliar, pushed me towards the past.
where are those pages i once knew?
gacela of the dark death breathed insistently into my ear,
clogging me with the escaping impossible past.
in silence i walked behind you, the narrow binding sidewalk,
to my apartment where we finished dinner and spoke of darkness.
and the telephone, cradled in the bed, spoke no words to me.
echoing in my ear like near-deaf ringing
i dimly listened instead to echoes
of the petty and beautiful brief hours:
they did not card you at the bar and that left me suddenly young,
poor, lacking sustenance. my knees slack and my nails
suddenly too long. obscene and unnecessary.
i gave you my other shirt to fend off the chill and instead
i sat there freezing, feeling my shoulders uncertainly wide,
my back exposed with discontent to the other women behind us.
leaning forward, leaning back. unsure of the proper posture
to receive these dark amplified gifts of verse in the night.
with the nervousness of the dark smoky air in my teeth
i bit off all my nails, suddenly, brutally. i tore away the evidence
of my own unseeing self.
iii.
and where were you that thursday? in fear i waited, unsustained:
there was no telephone ring, no answer.
i was twenty-two and friendless. empty as a quarry.
with the distinct sensation of growing ever younger
i resolved to not care, although the day stung me
with my own empty heart.
a copper taste filled my mouth and i was aware of not eating
for days, unsure of food and where it might take me.
in the mornings i held my own hips and sighed.
the mirror hated me back, blankly:
my curious self reflected dusty and slanted
in the old rejected mirror.
when i walked to work on the commentaried streets
there was nothing left of familiarity.
i looked directly into the eyes of the man beside the church,
who waved his cane indignantly at my retreating back.
i did not care. free and unfettered limbs followed feet
and there was nothing to see in my emptiness.
and down the street birdsong followed me gently
as i trod down into the bricks blindly
the many useless infertile seeds of the trees above.
tuesday/summer
i.
from lips and hips
forth through my sleeping skeleton rises a brief passion
in the unsure gleam of unawake, the bright bubble that breaks
easily on the light's sudden glare.
on waking i see i am utterly and blankly unknown on my tossed bed.
i am awake and nothing wakes with me.
i leave dreaming aside, meaningless, mute.
instead the unanswered day is waiting, alarmed, on the bedside table
at precisely seven forty-five in the sun bleached morning.
the futile ringing church bell on the street
melds indistinctly with the rush of traffic,
and i can see the indistinct late summer branches
dropping seeds futile, constant, on the barren infertile bricks.
a subtle wind disturbs them. i get out of bed
unable to grieve.
indistinguishable from others i walk a street hemmed by concrete,
the gutter basins filling with unwanted late-summer leaves;
a man at the church looks me unsteadily in the eye
he knows me, uncanny and suddenly: knows our shoes step
along familiar and in opposite directions,
he to the church door from the corner, i to my house.
where am i?
i reside in a city that is without walls, without commentary.
i live unshadowed in a late summer that floats barren seeds down on me.
ii.
we laughed, dark and sheltered and dim-lit in the bar,
a woman sung her song and then slammed out verse
until we cried, we shuddered with longing, laughing.
with your beer in hand i watched your profile,
thinking who am i to know another person?
in nothingness, with abandon and empty anonymous laughter,
i erase the idea of a city that does not know me.
in my bag unseen and cradled were lorca, jimenez:
the translations, unfamiliar, pushed me towards the past.
where are those pages i once knew?
gacela of the dark death breathed insistently into my ear,
clogging me with the escaping impossible past.
in silence i walked behind you, the narrow binding sidewalk,
to my apartment where we finished dinner and spoke of darkness.
and the telephone, cradled in the bed, spoke no words to me.
echoing in my ear like near-deaf ringing
i dimly listened instead to echoes
of the petty and beautiful brief hours:
they did not card you at the bar and that left me suddenly young,
poor, lacking sustenance. my knees slack and my nails
suddenly too long. obscene and unnecessary.
i gave you my other shirt to fend off the chill and instead
i sat there freezing, feeling my shoulders uncertainly wide,
my back exposed with discontent to the other women behind us.
leaning forward, leaning back. unsure of the proper posture
to receive these dark amplified gifts of verse in the night.
with the nervousness of the dark smoky air in my teeth
i bit off all my nails, suddenly, brutally. i tore away the evidence
of my own unseeing self.
iii.
and where were you that thursday? in fear i waited, unsustained:
there was no telephone ring, no answer.
i was twenty-two and friendless. empty as a quarry.
with the distinct sensation of growing ever younger
i resolved to not care, although the day stung me
with my own empty heart.
a copper taste filled my mouth and i was aware of not eating
for days, unsure of food and where it might take me.
in the mornings i held my own hips and sighed.
the mirror hated me back, blankly:
my curious self reflected dusty and slanted
in the old rejected mirror.
when i walked to work on the commentaried streets
there was nothing left of familiarity.
i looked directly into the eyes of the man beside the church,
who waved his cane indignantly at my retreating back.
i did not care. free and unfettered limbs followed feet
and there was nothing to see in my emptiness.
and down the street birdsong followed me gently
as i trod down into the bricks blindly
the many useless infertile seeds of the trees above.
