Ars Poetica: I Remember It That Way

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.

Friday, February 24, 2012

Wasn't it always summer?

Couldn't we play all day?

Weren't we always laughing?

I remember it that way.

Didn't I keep your secrets?

Didn't you share my pain?

Wouldn't it be wonderful

to be that way again?

Shouldn't we try to fix this?

Aren't you and I that strong?

Can't we go back to where we were

before it all went wrong?

Won't you try to forgive me?

Can't you hear what I say?

Weren't we happy together?

I remember it that way.
--Sappho