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Notes From A Woman Soon To Be
Divorced
DECEMBER
Endless south
I woke up and saw that it
was winter. There were no birds, etc. Every piece of clothing inside my
house was clean. Thank God. I looked into the mirror and saw that my eye
was bright and black. Piercing. Wonderful. My lips were almost open.
Beautiful. But my hands. Hands? Were very sad. Beating something. Like
birds flown into their endless south and still trying to fly further.
Ridiculous. I noticed my heart seemed to be saying something. There is no
winter. Am I awake? What was it saying? There were words on its lips.
Entangled with the soap in my hand. Soap? I was trying to clean my wings.
They were brown and bitter. I was old. It was winter. Try to overcome
that. Pretend it is summer! The tulips, etc. Brown and bitter, my wings
that I tried to clean. With white soap while my heart said something and I
listened and heard nothing.
There is no waking while things like this are happening
They try to get the zebras to talk. That makes sense
when you live out in the jungle. Because already the lions speak and the
great giraffe sings, apparently. This is told to me by those who have
struggled with wild things. Great warriors with pain splashed on their
faces. One leans down over my body. (I have just been ripped apart by a
lion.) Do you hear them speaking he says in another language. I hear them.
It is song or something like words pasted together. Like a tight thing you
would hold and never want to let go of. I notice my hand lying by the
river. How beautiful! Try to wake up. Try! But the wild wind and the
zebras and the warriors are singing. Their noise carries me up. There is
no waking while things like this are happening.
Remember when we loved each other?
To say I loved you would be like saying I need you to
pick this sunflower
Or I wish you would please now come home to me even though it has been
three years
To say that I am kind of dying here and getting old
Would be like saying
Help
What in hell happened to my face?
Remember when we loved each other?
Down by the water, etc. At any rate, let’s turn the page
At this point the only thing left to talk about would be
How empty this cup is. This one I was drinking from.
These were the things I was trying to say
I would not beg you but if I begged you would it make
you come home?
Because I could get down on both knees.
There is no hell so let’s talk about something else
My hands still look like the map of a child’s planet
Thank god
Your hands are like a cow who has stopped moving in the field
Who has cried real tears
Who has cried real tears?
Our dead boy we folded in his suit
The policeman we handed over dollars to
The nun we gave real cake to chew
And to the strange waves we rode
We gave our drowning heads and hearts
That is to say, we drowned
There is no hell so let’s talk about something else
The fields of people wandering
JANUARY
Love Song #34
From the moment we lie down together in bed to the
moment when he asks if he can come on my breast, four minutes have passed.
Why do I keep doing this?
Love Song #287
His car is broken down and he needs me to come get him.
His chest hurts. His thumb hurts. He has a cold. He is coughing. He is
worried. He is sad. He is angry. Ho hum. I am waiting for my boat now. Did
not tell him about the ticket. Will take it to a sunny place where men
wear ripped shirts and will rip me apart.
Love Song #0965
Let me be your slave I told him. He pretended to
understand but never brought it up again. Servant to king, I begged him.
He talked about my tires. They needed to change. Tie me down, I pleaded.
He asked for another cookie.
In the book I am going to buy at the store there will be a picture of a
mighty king. All dolled up in royal garb. Long, thick legs waiting beneath
all that velvet. He will demand that I crawl, inch my way up his thick
fabric. Touch the purple, make him shiver. He may have to strike me down
if I don’t comply.
This king will never meet my boyfriend. I will keep them separate. The
boyfriend is the one who will change my tires. The king will make me
change his.
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