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Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

registration begins
a new path cut, I’ve noticed
but maybe that is only the cold
there is a story to be told (more…)

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Florida

Florida, to me, perhaps in my mind
a kind of sandstone rhumor
a memory of a memory of something strange and sacred
like so much of childhood (more…)

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Dear Silas,

It would take me a long time to explain why I am going to New Orleans.
I would have to tell you about my childhood, about pipe dreams, about the last two years and what he said to me in the theatre the other night. You’d have to understand why something so small from just the right person has the power to (more…)

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Dear Fernando,

Already, on Tuesday, it has been a long week.
Saturday night was a flight of magnificent juvenile passion
speakers making bones vibrate on a patio in Williamsburg at two in the morning
surrounded by a generation I must embrace but cannot understand
Sunday, eating cashew cream cheese while being
eaten by mosquitoes, and that night
an underwhelming performance by Aretha Franklin.
I shielded the other patrons from the glow of my phone
as I repeatedly checked the score for
the final game between the Spurs and the Heat

Monday, I arrived at work to discover that our office manager had quit.
She was an inspiration; certainly, she was mine
in coming to work here in the first place
Most people are angry, the way that
people get when they are confronted suddenly by change
but I am happy for her
because I know what it is to do what one must, with grace,
to improve the quality of one’s life

Today, again, more fear and anger and the incessant
yammering of an incensed hoard
I try to ignore the racket of tongues
the endless disapproving cluck of the coop
but even I, on occassion, must step outside
into the embrace of screaming children and car horns
in search of peace

Times like this, as silly as it may sound
I wish you and I
and your friends and mine
could all escape to the beach

that you and I could listen to Bossa Nova
drink from the bottle
and smile like the waves
as we lay in silence on the beach

Siempre,
Irene

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Dear Josh,

Now that I have written my
secret correspondence to you
I can move on to
the business of
black sand

The last time we spoke
you were mad at me for
making light of your lover
I know, it was insensitive
sometimes my humour gets lost
in the limbs of my attitude

Sometimes I think about the way you had
of squeezing tension from a room
or my body
the way only you have ever been able
to make the agony of any day
disappear

and the song drifts up from the street
wish you were here

A lot has happened
over the last two years
I started running and swimming
I’ve become fanatical about American Football
I moved to Fort Greene
I started a new career

I don’t know if faux-fatherhood has changed you
I imagine it must have done
and as I approach my late twenties
I find myself falling more and more
in love with the idea of babies
So who knows
maybe parenthood is in my future
Your guess is as good as any
regarding what’s to come

I know it might not be appropriate to tell you
to come home
that I wish you’d just come back to us
here in Brooklyn
I’m sure Australia is wonderful
and I am sure you have built something for yourself there
to keep you, that at this point
there’s no contention
the choice is clear

still the song plays somewhere on a car radio
wish you were here

Always,
Ren

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Dear Josh,

Even as I sit here, I am thinking about things
I have to withhold until we see each other again
there is an embrace in my heart that could make me burst
if I let it
my friend, the deep love I have for you in my heart

why is it strange
where is our language for platonic love?
I hope you understand my meaning

In my memory, you are warmth and maple syrup
you are rooftops and cartwheels
and I am safe, safe
even in our lust, so long ago
you are a kind of home

I still smile when I am in the elevator
I still pronounce diphthongs
and I am not so sad as I was
all those years ago
when I spent almost every night
listening to the floors contort themselves
in ecstasy, groan like
an exquisite rheumatism

Even as I sit here, I ask myself
where is our language for platonic love?
the french have so many ways
there are peoples in valleys and jungles with
words for my love for you
my friend, my old friend
and I am safe, safe
even in the memory of our grateful embrace
you are a kind of home.

Always,
Ren

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Dear Peter,

I wanted to tell you about yesterday
when it was still yesterday
but then I forgot
or was tired because I ate pizza
and then Harriet came over and we laughed nervously
as old, estranged friends do

I told her about our friend
the Giddy Phantom
and she suggested that we give him a call
and see if he wanted to come over
or go find some good climbing trees in the Park
but his phone was off
likely, he was out with a bucket of blue paint
and a wry smile plastered on his
ghoulish face

But there was something I wanted to tell you about yesterday
when it was still yesterday
when it was right there with me
like the ladybug on my cheek
this morning in the subway
and maybe
that is what I wanted to tell you
since time, after all, doesn’t exist
the way we’ve portrayed it
in English

yes, I had something to say to you yesterday
while it was still yesterday
and maybe it was just ebullient fervor
or maybe it was the Lego robot I found on the sidewalk
or even about the nuclear physicists from the
Naval Academy in their smart uniforms
but I don’t think it was any of those things

probably the center of those things
probably about love
more about love
always about love
definitely about love

everything is about love

and now I am going to head to Costco
and pick up dry cleaning
and maybe crash a house party tonight on Adelphi

It seems that I may have lost what I was going to tell you about yesterday
unless it was love
for that is never lost
and likely
you knew already
for knowing is never lost
even in the dreams between today and yesterday

-Irene

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