poetryrepairs #204 14.09:101
ERIN C. HASTINGS : Letter to Victoria Lucas
VALERIE DEATON : To Kiss the Earth
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The Morning After
We was drunk last night, dancin', laughin' ta music, an' Millie was all over me. She was warm in my arms this morning an' I hate the sweat of her palms on my face. She'd told me once she had demons an' she warned me, I don't trust men. I didn't listen. I didn't want to. We all have demons an' Millie's one of mine. I don't hear the floor squeak when she leaves no more. We loved each other once, but 96th Street drained it out of us. Ma told me men don't cry cause the zip bag veins in our bodies is dry. Ta a woman's tears you're pale," she said, an' any man she hung with beat 'em out of me. I felt the old women's skin waitin' for me ta stumble down the stairs the morning after. It's their way of tellin' me they heard the head bangin' even when my music's playin' too loud. They ain't getting' out of my way; thinkin' maybe I'll fall, break my neck and the halls won't weep. The bums on the corner tryin' ta get a lick from a bottle that's been dry all night. He's gunna beg me for a dollar he knows he ain't gunna get. I hate the damn buzzer on the liquor store's door. The bum knows I'm goin in, getting' mine; and he knows I ain't sharin'. When ya been here this long, ya don't give a shit, cause ya know he's your next step. If Millie comes back, she better bring her own; cause I ain't sharin' even if I did love her once. I'm keepin' mine cause the weepin' halls dry ya out, an' ya get thirsty and no one shares.

poetryrepairs #204 14.09:101

All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge

poetry repairs your heart
even as it splits it open.
The Art of Reading

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Letter to Victoria Lucas
The humidity makes me think of you. Alone in that oven baking breast cookies with heart-shaped nipples, your children staring in with carbon copies of your heuristic sequined eyes. We are two of the same with our expert smile practiced in every passing mirror, restless nights spent floating about the bed and insulin shock treatments that plowed through our bodies to reveal exhausted farmland. I know about the doctors who bobbed their heads in your dark waters, never supporting your weight and the melancholy cork that seduced you within the bell jar like a fine Merlot. I know about the fire for one man, the blazes set within the inside of your thighs as well as the loss and the shards of glass felt in the small of your back with every sleepless turn. I know of the waiting, the endless waiting for the phone to ring to pacify the colic child within and the god awful silence that drowned you in your bed. But our experiences separate us like wind exhaling through strands of angel hair because I am your Lady Lazarus and you are merely my guide.

from 15 years ago: vMM.09
poetryrepairs #204 14.09:101

I have many things to write unto you but
I will not write with pen and ink
--JOHN the theologian

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VALERIE DEATON To Kiss the Earth
To Kiss the Earth The moon sings the mountain down to the sea as the sun wraps itself around the horizon. Air runs like a hand lightly across the body. Voices pirouette like echoes in a braid of flowing tongues. We trace the flicker of dragonflies skimming the water, their imprint light as ash. We hold fruit with its sweet flesh, sac of seeds, silky membrane fitting the palm perfectly. And it is time to kiss the earth and count freshly painted stars running ocean ward. Here where there is only stillness, my love I wish upon you these delights the lotus moon still blooming as we exchange liquid looks as dark as antique honey time, calm and airy and, oh, to wake up naked in the garden and fall in love again, easily, so easily.

from poetryrepairs.com v04.09
poetryrepairs #204 14.09:101

Poetry endangers the established order
of the soul - Plato

REPAIR: resort, frequent or habitual going; concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; making one's way; to go, betake oneself, to arrive; return to a place; to dwell; to recover, heal, or cure; to renew; to fix to original condition. -- O.E.D.


ERIN C. HASTINGS : Letter to Victoria Lucas
VALERIE DEATON : To Kiss the Earth

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