My poems very rarely, if ever, rhyme, so I thought I'd give it a try. Robert Frost says that having no verse to a poem is cheating, which is total bullocks, but I thought I'd at least do something different from my norm.
Moving to California on Thursday. I'm a little terrified. Although I hate good-byes, and I'm very done with saying them, and for that reason alone, I'm also very ready to go.
Seventeen South Fourth West, Number Four
(Or “On Contemplating the Move to Fremont, California and Taking Classes at Ohlone College)
“What win I, if I gain the thing I seek?
A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy-
Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week?
Or sells eternity to get a toy?”
--William Shakespeare, “The Rape of Lucrece”
From April to June I have felt myself lost
A fading self on every wind tossed
A striking contrast to confidence I’ve known
To feel one’s face is not one’s own.
Young men have passed before my eyes
And all I have felt has made me wise
Broken hearts have many women made
Who see the need to let love fade.
Miles away waits a room with blue walls
Where I could spend one of hundreds of Falls
Where a woman has kept house for 50 years
There where wait my greatest fears
But then what changes in me silently wait?
What thoughts and faces blooming late?
What transformations could I know
In exchanging an “I” to get an “O”?
If Faustus must hurt in order to heal,
Then, Lord, let me have this ache to feel!
liz.... you are pretty incredible. and thank you so very much for your letter--it made me think and definitely made me feel a little better. it also distracted me which is maybe what i needed most.
ReplyDeletelove you!
-isha