Forgiveness Returned for Her Black Sadness
Let me be where I am.
Let this bread, this morning, be their own ceremony.
Let me pass the gilt mirrors without looking.
When the lead mouth of fear clamps onto mine
and blasts her wind of rope and iron filings into me,
let my breath be forgiveness returned for her black sadness.
Let me leave the perfect round stone on the forest trail,
the wet starfish at the shoreline. Let me not forget
my last drink. Let me be kind.
I had a nightmare the sky had been sold for advertisements,
loud, colored beams of Gap and Coke projected onto the clouds.
Let the whole deal crash first. Let us abandon cleverness.
Let there be gentleness for the old bleached blond with her
stapled face, sending back her steak to the restaurant kitchen;
let us understand her deep love for the little dog back at the hotel.
At work, in the car, let me see the white classroom
and blue sky windows of Malena. Let poems
be cups of language made for holding silence.
Nura
1 comment:
Oh, Nura, you are such a wonderful poet! Such an amazing poem. God! I am awed. And feel deeply spoken to.
I had two suggestions, though I'm not sure input is appropriate now we're not in the safety of that white-walled room. Held in Malena's stillness.
Here it is anyway - ignore as necessary: The line about the whole deal (though it resonates with "new deal" in interesting ways) feels heavy to me. Simpler might more effectively honor your wonderful opening lines. The sky fall? Also I love the woman with the stapled face, but thought it might be stronger without the "old."
Is input inappropriate? Maybe now we're outside that room we should be more hands off? Let me know how you feel.
It was wonderful to be with everyone, and to touch each other through the work. I did find I had to pull back my need for attention once the workshop was over. Like the old woman's eager black puppy waiting in the hotel room.
I thank everyone for creating that amazing space.
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