GAIL ENTREKIN : Recovery Room
ANNE M. HUDSON : When This Talking Becomes an Unpacking
DIANE PAYNE : Beneath the Stars
POETRYREPAIRS v12.08:088
contemporary international poetry - for your reading pleasure,
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Recovery Room When This Talking Becomes an Unpacking Beneath the Stars  
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GAIL ENTREKIN
Recovery Room
A cheerful nurse has come for me to say that you are waking and she leads me through the swinging door into a room with three cream-colored mummies lined up on their cots, and the farthest one, unquestionably, is you, my boney balding silver-bearded angel, just returning from your flight, your dream sleep someplace where no tubes and wires pin you to this world, no machines swallow you up, take pictures of your organs, find out things about you that you don't know yourself, no men cut and paste and fail to tell you what they know and we, so desperately, need to know. The blue of your eyes is the only color in the face of your absence, and for a long time you drift in and out so it's hard to know when you are here. But now you part your dry lips, search for your voice, and ask again, What did he say? I tell you again, unfazed by this repetition, not so very different from our daily forgettings, our system of gentle reminders, learning to set aside our pride, our touchiness, to laugh because sorrow is so wearing. I take your long cold hand in my two warm ones as I have taken you again and again into my heat, and I tell you, We have to wait and see.
POETRYREPAIRS 12.08:088
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Recovery Room When This Talking Becomes an Unpacking Beneath the Stars  
POETRY requires a mature audience ENTER only if you are 18+ under 18? klik here

ANNE M. HUDSON
When This Talking Becomes an Unpacking
For Anne Gurian, M.D.
"Let's open this drawer," you said, pointing. "This drawer is important." "Why, I haven't opened this drawer in years," I said. "I can't remember what's in it, just some old things, I think, some clothes I haven't looked at for a long time." We opened the drawer. From the depth of the layers in the back wedged tightly we began to pull the garments out. Difficult work a veritable labor pushing and pulling a birthing with blood and wracking pains. We found blue things, no surprise, blue the color of the sky's reflection in water midnight blue royal blue baby blue blue the color of hope and the color of tears faded, stained, outdated, spilling out in profusion, so many shades of blue, a rainbow unto itself. Then we found the red raiment, folded up into a small hard square, covered by other things, silk satin, unfolding and rippling in the air between our hands. We lift it up, admiring its ferocious flame of a color, as we unfurl it, as we unfurl it high and wide.
POETRYREPAIRS 12.08: 088
Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato



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Recovery Room When This Talking Becomes an Unpacking Beneath the Stars  
POETRY requires a mature audience ENTER only if you are 18+ under 18? klik here

DIANE PAYNE
Beneath the Stars
Inside our blankets clothes-pinned to the line My sister and I believed we were miles away from home Though we were only in the backyard. The dogs peeked their heads inside our tent While the neighbors played their accordions and guitars Serenading us to sleep beneath the silent stars. Walking to school one day The trees in a park called me And I never made it to class. Mother didn't understand about the trees calling. Why can't you act more like a girl, she asked. Be glad I'm a tree, I assured her. Now that I'm more a mother than a tree I feel an urgency to pull out the sleeping bags And sleep beneath the stars with my daughter. Free of senseless explanations, My daughter barks with the dogs While I fall asleep a tree once more.
POETRYREPAIRS 12.08: 088
GAIL ENTREKIN : Recovery Room
ANNE M. HUDSON : When This Talking Becomes an Unpacking
DIANE PAYNE : Beneath the Stars
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