Wednesday, March 3, 2010

any other sister

She wouldn’t have it any other way, this

Woman who stood up to bombs and blows

Before she realized she was not the victim

Of this particular cosmic joke

But rather the hijacked heroine of

Somebody else’s poetry --- Why

Do you laugh, Titus, she

Murmured

In his ear, now with the leaves

Shaking in the autumn wind, is

There anything

Left to do but laugh, or cry, she said,

I’ve mustered up the courage

To stand still until I fall, tracing my thoughts

Past naked bodies into purple heavens, these

Girls, they

Dance an Arabesque, they

Swallow our swords and live

To tell – We

Are the words that go round and round,

Quiet now with hungry fathers

And blackhaired infants – our mounting of the

Steps is monumental

Given our stretched and broken limbs – We

Climb to meet you there,

Under the stair, in a perfect hideaway,

Where only Saints can find us.

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