#Americans #Jews #Women
The man giving birth in the dark has died & come back to life again, is stretching out his arms
We sit on a rock to allow our souls to catch up with us. We have been traveling a long time.
I mourn a dead friend, like myself… —Pablo Neruda about César Vallej… I looked at the book. ‘It will stand,’ I thought. Not a palace
All over the district, on leather… & brocade couches, on daybeds & ‘professional divans,’ they… The air is thick with it, the ears of analysts must be stick…
Knowing our lives a drowse towards death (attended by dogs & children) how can it not matter
‘Hotel rooms constitute a separate… —Tom Stoppard A bed, a telephone, the cord to the world beyond the womb . . .
Parachuting down through clouds shaped like whales & sharks, dolphins & penguins, pelicans & gulls,
Broken ivories playing the blue piano of the sea. We have come
Black ship of night sailing through the world & the moon an orange slice tangy to the teeth of lovers who lie
The man under the bed The man who has been there for yea… The man who waits for my floating… The man who is silent as dustballs… The man whose breath is the breath…
I sit at my desk alone as I did on many Sunday afternoons when you came back to me, your arms aching for me,
This is the dirty laundry poem– because we have traveled from town… accumulating soiled linen & sw… & blue-jeans caked & clott… & teeshirts crumpled by our gl…
In the glass-bottomed boat of our lives, we putter along gazing at the other world under the sea– that world of flickering
For a long time unhappy with my man, I blamed men, blamed marriage, blamed the whole bleeding world,
For Jennifer Josephy On cold days it is easy to be reasonable, to button the mouth against kisses… dust the breasts