Letters to Miss. Bordeaux

destiny

*image found HERE

Letters to Miss. Bordeaux

What are we to do then, you and I?
when we both
answer to the call
of two human skulls
banged against each other
in the darkness
on a forest clearing?What now
when in the palm of master death
twin contracts of
apprenticeship?
I will not row across the moor sister;
i will not join your cult of blessed mornings,
i am a priest of none,
a church of nothing
and I have no gods
of sunshine nor of ash.
I can’t.
This is your ditty
but of Stygian blood;
this is your song
the wastelands
at the mercy of a flood.

Protest me, I beg you,
oh, explain me things
in whichever voice you want,
be my mother, be my lover,
be my frail and my concern

Will we learn?
“What have we learned?”
“From who, from who, from who?”

I slide into the con-artistry of words,
and you are red, and red, and purple pale
and blue and blue
all mixed together
into being sincere.
I dont speak your language
and you dont speak mine
and we are two immigrants
inside one female body
and we are both serving a sentence,
and our lovers are wardens;
thats why it feels so good
to stretch it across borders
and not outside
in front
of the street.

What are we now
when we are mashed into
a pack-less frightened
wolf-cub?
You will ask me
not to use
the softest of your breasts as
cushion pins
for my fangs.
What are we to do now,
you and I,
you wretched heart
and me wretched slut
for the sea.
Join a club, or join a gang
or start a book club
or read books and love our thy-selves
do an alphabetical order on the shelves
hang around?
Loiter in flowers,
loiter in apartment graves,
charge the castle, arm the guards,
attack, defend, marry a kingdom
sell it for a cloud.

What are we to do, now,
you and I?

*For NaPo day 29

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~ by Oloriel on April 29, 2019.

7 Responses to “Letters to Miss. Bordeaux”

  1. Beautiful, beautiful! You’ve expressed this duality so wonderfully here: “I dont speak your language
    and you dont speak mine
    and we are two immigrants
    inside one female body
    and we are both serving a sentence,
    and our lovers are wardens”.

    • I am really glad that the duality that haunts my work is still a constant in my poems. Thank you very much for reading and taking the time to say these to me.

  2. I too was struck by the lines Anmol highlighted, and all of it ~

  3. Brilliant. I had to stop reading to write a poem of my own when I reached your forest clearing. This doesn’t happen often. You fly!

    • Oh, that is so lovely to hear! I have been away for a short while, but am looking forward to reading one of your lovely posts again, and knowing I in some small part may have inspired one with my poem, is a great delight!

      • Let me leave it here, because I’m not sure when if ever I will post it anywhere else. Touchy matter. 😉

        Cornwall

        What was it exactly
        with the bathtub in the woods?
        And the moss?
        The bathtub had a cover.
        The moss was slick, smooth and scratchy.

        Rose petals,
        first thing to see when awake.
        Living quarters in the cellar.
        Probably chained.

        And all those things to forget:
        knives.
        Posture-fixer.
        Swimming pool.
        More knives.

        It might be prettier there,
        but it was made to remain in literature
        rather than in Cornwall.

        Forest clearing did me in.

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