Tuesday, October 7, 2014

Context (Meghan)


I said person but meant man.
You heard boy in the space between.

I am a woman person.
I want you to see a woman person.
You are a man, fully grown.
You are a man who wants me to see a man, fully grown.

So I said person and you heard boy
because the girls before dressed up, paraded,
sighed girl, girl, girl, and boy, boy, boy,
and lover made them giggle,
husband made them dream of days but not beyond,
amoureux was foreplay because it sounded nice.
Partner was a word left over from the second wave,
its sack of spider eggs returned
to hatch on someone else’s skin.
Maybe mine.

I said person, then significant.
You said I am no trial.
No trial size, sweet teeth satisfied?
No trial for lies, our precursors’ crimes?
No trial period, conditional use,
but Darling, we’re all on probation.
(Happy transmitted better,
unruly reverberation supported
by the blood in your warm hands.)

I said person, diluted.
I meant woman and man, full strength.
These definitions fail but not completely.
Here are my arms, my eyes,
Trust, which sounds like rust, and might have been
had we stopped building shelters
and slept in the rain.
I see you are a man, fully grown.
I am a woman, undiluted.

Leaf, Leaf, Leave (Meghan)

Leaf, Leaf, Leave

One time I saw a leaf
in ombre green to red,
severed too soon from the
still-living—still staining, still clinging
in late September to summer’s
strong branches, bracing for the fall.

One time I saw a leaf
of smooth white paper
abandoned on the concrete drive
(beneath a tree, reddening for Fall),
flying off sheet by sheet
like doves from a branch’s sacrifice
in full, arresting flight.

One time I saw you leaf
through piles of sorted mail,
envelopes recording bills
already paid.  You were searching
for love letters you might have dreamed
but wanted to be real:
a leaf from autumn pressed
between pages never read.

One time I saw you leave
but knew you would return.
I’d pressed leaves from the day
we made our promises, after all.

One time I saw you leave
but couldn’t watch you go.
You stood in the space between us
like a late September leaf
while I lay on the concrete,
a rotting arm, a paper bird,
wiser from the Fall.