Night here, alone, makes me unfaithful
to the woman we both know:
easy to give my heart away
to a stranger
wandering the beach
of my innermost shore,
the crash of the ocean’s ivory keys
drowning the do-re-mi
that has played
me for years,
the air so loose and warm,
all the old clothes
must be pulled off,
my body shown
for what it is—
of holy longing, faithful
only to what seems to be
last call for living
this other me.
One of several versions of another Mexico poem. Maybe I’ll post the others sometime and see if you like one over the other….
The river behind the house at night
has so much more of a voice
in the darkness, rushing
toward the ends of the earth as if
this is the journey of all journeys.
The world I was born into has hurried
me through forty-seven years, never
stopping to place me where I belong:
I want to lie firm and wondrous in the arms
of the river, a boulder of great faith.
Then when it hands me the moon
shimmering and full, and gathers
the rippling stars in close, I am part
of a circle of sisters, sharing stories,
named in their alphabet of light.
Ask me then about ecstasy,
and I will say it runs gleaming
through the secret universe
of my body, that it calls me
An older poem, first published in North Shore Magazine, and included in my first chapbook “Stealing Eternity”. And since its writing, happy to say I found where I belong.