#6

NOT TOUCHING
by E Therese

The translucent reminder of his past love is lurking underneath my closed eyes
and we are not touching, like the bodies

in a shadowy and bent photograph
where the people almost alive in their almost-movements
stuck in eternity of what they were about to do

the entire scene of two glowing beginners, eyes met, intimacy matched
having forgotten there were any others,
refusing to ignore desire

as if the taker had caught them
in a rare moment of slow flight
just before they drifted out of sight
through any door of perfectly laid privacy.
_____________________________________
NOT TOUCHING
by Billy Collins

The valentine of desire is pasted over my heart
and still we are not touching, like things

In a poorly done still life
where the knife appears to be floating over the plate
which is itself hovering over the table somehow,

the entire arrangement of apple, pear, and wineglass
having forgotten the law of gravity,
refusing to be still,

as if the painter had caught them all
in a rare moment of slow flight
just before they drifted out of the room
through a window of perfectly realistic sunlight.

#5

Advent
by E Therese

a page found
of her story
in her own hand
man's most secret journal

stepping outside
to read in sacred
sentiments that do not appear
unless by starlight

in my possession
somehow, shaken

putting great distance
marching a long trail
...creating a long space between
me and man

ah woman, if she yet be
must you be my own

a parting gesture
wrinkled and wrapped,
not yet torn

she speaks unworthy
she speaks great fear
unleashing demons and sin
and greed
the purest of hearts
on great wide open perch

professing depth of living
and dying
her own death of spirit
of journeying to such a great
length
with such speed
so unknown
already alarmed at the
tear of heart
that giving must lend
on such a girl
______________________________________

Advent
By Rae Armantrout, Poetry JULY 2009

In front of the craft shop,
a small nativity,
mother, baby, sheep
made of white
and blue balloons.

*

Sky
god
girl.

Pick out the one
that doesn't belong.

*

Some thing

close to nothing
flat
from which,

fatherless,
everything has come.

#4

I Am Not My Own
by E Therese

How easy it would be
to become lost in solitude
how desirable a fate to be
of nothing but yourself
the pull from within to stay on there
beckons this creature
against the tide that surrounds
I have given in before
and quietly lurked the laid out paths
of the side journey

floating up and down
to where time stands
away from the
sorrow line
letting it ache for me
this once
______________________________________

I Am Not Yours
by Sara Teasdale

I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.
You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.
Oh plunge me deep in love—put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.

#3

FIRST REPORT
By E Therese

First Report: the 4th. Baby steps
For the whole year.
Mornings are wondering.
Hours disappeared.
Working through the things I thought I saw.
Walking through my own cloud of
afterthought. Back to my window.
The projects are mounting
with no direction at all.
Forcing me to face the origin of
what existed before I looked to create it.

At night I roam
between points of thought somehow
determined by my unraveling.
If I stay the course and give it all
that I don't have they must know it will
be worth the effort
she doesn't even understand yet.
The earliest moment of today
she made me promise I'd never leave her - ever.

Sometimes I wonder if my flow
doesn't give it all away so that when it's bound
they'll shake their heads up and down slowly
an intimate recognition.

What should I give the ones waiting to come in.
The meeting at this point in my life
of newness and the expressions of life
stage that seems to feed itself.
The not adding surely isn't self-loathing.
I'm getting more sleep now.
Less control over some things and
a journeying that we are willing
to embark on.

The Winter just started
again.
Rooms keep moving their contents
as if we could rewrite the standing still.
He keeps demanding that he sees the movement
coming.

I had gotten used to the noise
that the heat brought.
But he changed that this year too.
I lay remembering the bed we used to share
with windows at our heads that rattled in the wind.
The comfort in that noise
always halfway there in dead silence.
A friend who whispers through others
but never shows up.

______________________________________

FINAL REPORT
by Mary Jo Bang

Final Report: the 13th. No progress
Until 10 July.
Tuesday is worried.
Today didn't come back
Again until 2 or 3.
Still trying to sort out the morning yesterday.
The day and all evening
A terrible headache. Back to bedtime.
Still working on revisions
To the Napoleon machine.
It keeps churning out the question of how
Can I wait and see how I feel.

I woke up and couldn't convince myself
To work on 2/3. Why is this happening?
I slept. But I'm hoping for more from the gray one.
I really wonder whether all is going on
In so many words. I have to tell someone
At 3 to sleep. I don't need much.
A pin under a nail. Either way.
It seems a bit tangential to something
Of an explanation.

Back pain until mid-September.
I don't know.
If I did, I would take the wiring apart
And see how it works. Like that.
As if it could be done. He wondered if I would...
What? Whatever it is of course I'll do it.
I have to remind myself
That it makes no sense to be crushed.

Chalk and crayon face, tree trunk the shore
Of the social sphere that turns and turns and turns.
I keep my eyes closed
At the verge of a chasm.

A space heater rumination.
That thing that is buried.
You believe in it
Because you've been told it is there.
It's not a bad feeling.
I do not think it will.

#2

WELCOME
by E Therese

Hear it
with the late night arrival we are saying welcome
we are kissing our loves and friends and feasting
we are drinking in our desires and despairs
we are saying welcome
welcome to the new year
we are standing outside gazing to our heavens
at stars and lights and fireworks
we are saying welcome

back from the end of a year spattered with tears
and tearing and all things breaking
after the loss we are saying welcome
before we can sin again
we first lend our clumsy hands at welcome

we call with words of welcome for everyone we know
with the world spinning out of control
we still say welcome
with bitterness behind us and guilt not yet come
we say welcome to all things that we might do
for all that might send us love
for all that might hold us up
for all that we must face
we are saying welcome
dark though it is
______________________________________

THANKS
by W. S. Merwin

Listen
with the night falling we are saying thank you
we are stopping on the bridges to bow from the railings
we are running out of the glass rooms
with our mouths full of food to look at the sky
and say thank you
we are standing by the water thanking it
smiling by the windows looking out
in our directions

back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging
after funerals we are saying thank you
after the news of the dead
whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you

over telephones we are saying thank you
in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators
remembering wars and the police at the door
and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you
in the banks we are saying thank you
in the faces of the officials and the rich
and of all who will never change
we go on saying thank you thank you

with the animals dying around us
our lost feelings we are saying thank you
with the forests falling faster than the minutes
of our lives we are saying thank you
with the words going out like cells of a brain
with the cities growing over us
we are saying thank you faster and faster
with nobody listening we are saying thank you
we are saying thank you and waving
dark though it is

#1

COUPLED
by E Therese

“We’re conscious of blossoming and withering both at once.” Rainer Marie Rilke

The rear view mirror holds
tiny strapped in sleeping faces
but we’ll be there soon

ahead, the field rises
in timing
with this cogent soundtrack
devotedly played
this week
observing the vigil

sorrow ascends out
of the speakers

charging on the canvas of this
field and sky
coupled – it may well be
my only Heaven

(sense of calm stroked before specks of undoing
pervade every other thought)

In becoming my grief
I rise to an occasion
of this life
bounced against the unseen screen
separating the worlds
of here and thereafter

contact to haunt all my days remaining

dying first
(in pure progress)
before their vigil done

my late renascence

______________________________________

CLOSING IN
Anne Morrow Lindbergh, The Unicorn and Other Poems

Just room for me to squeeze between
The lowered ceiling and divide,
Just power enough to make the ridge
And, panting, gain the other side,

Just light enough to see my field
And in the shadows kiss the grass;
Just strength, just heart, just time enough,
For me, the tardy one, to pass

O hill, O strip of clearing sky,
Hold up the bars tills I get by!
O lovely day – forgive my sin,
One breath of light will let me in!