the normal heart, 1985

There may have been a lot to say to you
fifteen years ago~ so much we thought
we knew; obvious, expected even. But then you
turned on me, or I on you, or one of us
upon the other. The elephant rolled over.
Stupid story. And I avoided seeing your
politic, imagining us above the normal heart.

But I paid for this error,
the usual flesh boiling off
in the hot broth of time passing.
The bones are exposed now,
silver designs in a negative.

March again, lover, cher,
the carnal spring, sopping up my blood
but there are no acts of passion
believed in, intended, remembered,
or wished for, in anyway~

just soft noise of the possible,
that chance missed,
that prescription tumbled in the trash basket
traitorous now
the normal heart


I believe this was written in New York City, during the time BB was at Columbia's writing program, and I worked for the Russian Studiers at the Harriman Institute. This poem is yet another earnest attempt to separate and understand the damage Alison Clare did to me. In truth it is a confession of pride, admitting that I thought she and I were above the normal romantic escapades. That we loved each other in a different way.