So, probably I should give up pretending that this blog is anything other than a fancy way of storing poems I like. But I don't feel ready to do that yet. So I shan't.
Love after Love
by Derek Walcott
The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
******************************************************
All My Words
1-21-13
"You are so amazing."
"I've never met anyone like you
before."
Since you asked,
yeah,
that's what I usually say
to all the fellas.
I've become the girl who cried, wolf-whistled
throughout town.
I've complimented every
new tattoo,
work of art,
band you love.
I'm the girl who thought
your dog was the cutest,
your shoes were the coolest,
and your politics were suitably anti-racist
for a white dude.
And like that other little wolf-crier
from the story,
I knew exactly what lies I was telling.
And then you came along.
And your shoes really were that cool.
And your politics were absolutely swoon-worthy.
And I really had never met anyone like you before.
But I've also run out of things to say.
I'm worried,
as the words trip out,
that you can see how worn-out the edges are,
how often they've been used,
how bereft of originality I've become.
And I wouldn't blame you for walking away -
I wouldn't want second-hand words
either.
After I saw you last,
I stumbled home,
drunk on your uniqueness,
and sat down,
pen in hand,
desperate
to find anything I could give you
that would tumble out of my mouth
clean,
and just for you.
This is all I have:
"Baby, you make me wish I'd saved all my words."
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