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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4658 Registered: 11-1998 |
Poem of the Week All That We Are Caballo Oscuro She told me that I never should have run away, seeking gold and kisses of pale girls who always fly away. She spits out my life over Easter tables, never speaks of my sister, the one with the summer smile and heart like the ocean. My brothers ran away too. Switzerland, Barcelona -- money came along with good Catholic wives; children too, at least three each. I toy with Buddah and Island Gods, cannot make up my mind and take the seasons and love as my totems. Rafi says he is rich now, has grown fat in his concrete maze and maybe will retire at fifty. His wife looks tired; she has pretty brown eyes. Almandre says, “Pass the tomatoes,” with a full mouth; he wears a tie and I think his shoes are too tight, athough they shine. If it had all gone right, I say, I would be comfortable now, had guitarists play on Tuesday evenings, mixed rainbow cocktails and Cuba Libres for the tourists, while The Doors filled the video screen and the knowing tapped their feet. And she would put flowers on the tables, dance with me after midnight, and mornings and afternoons would find us galloping in the sea spray of Sotovento beach, surfing the Tiger break when the wind was from the west. I eat slowly, think of my father, wish he was with us and we didn’t have to take him flowers. I talk to marble walls after they all disperse to their wonderful lives, ask is that all that we are? He tells me that he sees me kicking my heels against the dusty wall of the petrol station, Waiting for love and all her dizzy kisses. Oh, he sees her in bare feet and cotton sliding off her shoulder, small hands conducting her feelings and touching my lips. Says all that you feel in your heart is all that you are, and I am happy to know that I am the me he created. |
