a poem for Shelley-Jo Talvacchia

This recent article from NPR describes a young poet whose only profession is sitting in the street with a typewriter and writing poems on topics suggested by pedestrians.  In the spirit of this brave individual’s endeavor to live off poetry alone, I have written a poem on a topic suggest by Shelley-Jo, my mother’s friend.  She asked for “a victory poem for love and kindness,” and so hopefully, the poem below speaks to her request.  If you would like to request a poem, by all means, let me know, and I’ll do my best (which, according to my mother, I always do).

Take all your slow winding-downs,
the watch hands sweeping out their
shadowed paths on pulsing wrists,
the sleep-darkened eyelid corners
where fear collects at the end of
the day, light fast fading.

Her breath is a whisper in
moonlight, silvered and silent,
but here, see her opened mouth,
her heart beating under the thin cloth,
see her hair laid out on the pillow,
hear the dreams spilling from her
lips, from her up-turned fingertips,
feel the strong, imagined, embrace –
take it.  It is the only thing laced
with the terror-free taste of
kindness (her sleeping self,
the characters of her most familiar
fantasies with their laughing hands,
their impossibly opened arms.
Fall into them.)  Let this be
the healing of every unmended thing.


2 Responses

  1. my dream indeed, thank you

  2. […] out in their natural environment over here.  (Of course if you prefer real poetry by a real poet, you would look here.) As well as a poem about the tragedy that is the story of Casper the tamed, hobbled, crushed […]

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