Ars Poetica: I wish you knew...

THE WOMEN gather under the trees.

They bring gifts, food, and chairs.

They are gypsies and queens, oracles, saints,

Jezebels and jesters, healers, sages, and warriors.

And when the circle is complete, the magic begins.

Shyly, with dainty movements, they take turns,

shifting aside their robes to expose

missing limbs and gaping wounds.

The others gather close and peer, heads cocked,

eyes straining, and they chant,

"That is lovely, that is good,"

and the wounds stop weeping,

and they melt into scars,

silvery and light and beautiful.

Then the women lean back and laugh,

and they stretch, sensual and fierce,

like cats in the sun.

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

[Sometimes, we write in response to a prompting word or phrase. This poem came from the prompt "control."]

I wish you knew that the endless analysis:

who? what? when? where?

and--most important--why?

is not idle over-thinking.

I wish you knew that the look on my face

which you describe

is not distrust or disapproval or anger.

It’s fear.

I wish you understood that I love you

plain and simple.

All the rest is not an attempt

to control

but to feel safe.

--Agatha