oh God,
look at me,
gaze upon me with eyes of fire
eyes of grace
reassure me, oh God,
stoke the fire in my heart
and make me believe in love
make me believe in you.
do you hear me when i cry?
come, lover:
draw me to your dwelling place
wipe my eyes and kiss my brow
i will lie down and be at peace
come away with me, my lover
draw the layers of cloth away from my soul
and caress it, heal it with your love
brush me against your lips and i’ll
fall asleep to the sound of your breath
damn i miss you my
beloved golden boy who
listened to my chatter
green grass and blue skies
pinkskirted girl talks about
predestination
green grass and blue skies
blueeyed boy listens kissing
her fingers gently
this is predestined
summer skies and children’s eyes
enamored, alive
this woman wishes
someone would listen to her
godly chatter now
just let me get the hell out
to somewhere blue and white
full of good food and sweet wine
where i can be alone
and where there will be friends in the streets
waiting for when i can dance again
white sand please and blue waves
so that if i go it’ll be a pleasure
to hold hands above my head and
walk out into the blue
walk out into the middle of the world
walk out of the middle of the world
walk out on the middle of the world
closing the door softly behind me
let me go somewhere where i’ll talk different
all arrivederci and ciao and
where all my “c’s” sound like i’m biting into apples
and sometimes i’ll go buy
aged crumbly cheese and goldenwhite bread
from women who smile with their eyes
they’ll hand me food and peace and say,
“don’t go too far into the ocean,
you young one,
we see your trembling; don’t despair;
look in our eyes and find light;
grow old like us in joy and grace.”
they’ll hold knobbly gold hands out to me
and tears will spring up and i’ll grasp them:
they and their eyes and their bread
will save me.
tonight i love you.
i don’t know why.
tonight when i think of you it’s
sweetbitteryoung
ancient
sometimes when i think of you i’m empty
like an infertile womb, i feel shrivelled up, useless,
as if i’ve miscarried the savior of the world,
and stand tearless and uncrying over a misformed foetus
as though the whole world waited breathless for this birth
and i was insufficient to bring this child life
at these times my whole body feels concave
like something belongs in/over/under me
and i’m incomplete and lifeless without it
stiff and creaking and dusty and old
sometimes when i think of you i smile
remembering you like a particularly sweet fruit
that i bit into summers ago, juice running down my chin
and in my eyes a gleaming like light off its skin
i’m eve exploring, discovering my self for the first time
as one of world’s newborns, and in tasting you
i tasted all the sensuality and sex i was capable of
but i was too young for this richness, and it was forbidden:
in tasting i fell in a triumphant swansong
inviting a sweeter fruit to nourish me, to save me
but tonight it’s just a wistfulness borne of dusk
and dustmites floating in a stagelight
thick green velvet curtains hanging like silence
and a clumsy waltz in a concrete corner
winter is the spring of my soul
all rebirthing and resuscitating
for the last year i’ve said:
“this would have been. this would have been.
this would have been.”
but now winter’s coming and i can say:
“this was the night of my soul,
and i have awakened,
and i am awake.”
it’s cold outside and i wrap myself
in memories of divine favor:
for it was winter when you came
and wrapped me up in you.
winter was my liberation,
when you made my stiff limbs run.
it was winter when i knew you loved me.
and now i curl up by the fire of your eyes,
wrapped in the warmth of your palm,
and settle to behold you
winter’s smell creeps in and i remember how it was
and rejoice in how it is and love you
—-
(this is one of my favorites)
sweet beloved you who
laughed and shrieked and danced, who
gazed adoringly into sky eyes, who
basked in the glow of exploding suns -
sweet darling full of grace,
lacking nothing
clinging to the hope of God and future
like silvergold lifelines
(your clinging is beautiful
like dewdrops on grass)
yes, you-
come back.
come back, sweet angel
who sees life and death and does not tremble
and trembles
fragile like youth
undying like time
i know you’re out there
traipsing across galaxies
proclaiming to great worlds
how you were raised from the dead
but i need you here,
where i’m still in the grave
stretch like spiderthread across the expanses
so i can cling tight
and know.
I WANT
by Kim Konopka
to shove my clothes
to one side of the closet,
give you the bigger half.
Quietly I’ll hide most of my shoes,
so you won’t know I have this many.
I will
rearrange furniture to add more,
find space on my shelves for your many books,
nail up the placard that says
poets do it, and redo it, and do it again.
I want
to share a laundry basket,
get our clothes mixed up,
wait for the yelling
when my reds run wild
into your whites
turning them a luscious pink,
your favorite color of me.
I will
move my pillow
to the other side of the bed,
lay yours next to mine,
your scent on the fabric
always near me,
even on the nights you’re away.
I will
buy a new bureau to hold your
thousand and one black socks,
find a place for all those work boots,
the ones I refer to as big and ugly.
I want
more pots and pans to wash,
piles of them leaning high
from late night meals
cooked naked and drunk,
red wine pouring into
a sauce of simmering
tomatoes, garlic, and olive oil,
kisses bitten between bites,
and platefuls of our late hours,
stacking up into dawn.
I want
to stock cupboards, closets and pantry
fill the house with us.
I want to gain weight with you
because our love,
our love makes me fat.
legs crossed on my desk
reclining in a chair
hands behind my head
talking to a resident
i feel like you.
