To a Poet I Might Have Known

(dedicated to Anne Sexton)

 

On the inside of my elbow

lies a dead woman’s name.

I wrote it there so she might live in my blood,

tap me out my poem;

a gut-rush confessional.

Do good girls have more fun?

What’s a bad girl?

 

Is there an irony to names?

My father, a Graves, will never lie in one.

I don’t want to either.

Give my body wings to fold back into me,

collapse in my infinitesimal bits,

be the ocean.

I’m a pisces mermaid

looking for her pearls.

 

Let your arms embrace me

limitless voyager.

Be in me like light.

Shine in the wet ink

right before the paper knows

I’m there.

 

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About jake.forrest

Poet. Songwriter. Etc. View all posts by jake.forrest

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