Heart

this heart is poseidon roaming
turmoiled oceans of other people's lives
trident clutched to a fallow breast

this heart is a wheel turning
on the track of days wearing
its tread away like skin

this heart is a hunter
cross-pollinating the random universe
in search of death and/or resurrection

Nobody really knows.

I hump my pillow in
the empty chamber of this day
trying to discover some reason

but nothing equals nothing
the ratiocination of time
is as close to a true story
as you can get

(and I am)
alone and horny, afraid of love

this guy pain is an omnipresent priest
at the altar of this heart
he waves his hand, requiring my sorrow
he waves his whip, expecting her forgiveness

This poem comes from the years living alone after Becky Bradway abandoned me for her vision of a world without an incestuous father and with a famous and successful poet. I was pretty sad in that time. Having Paige kept me alive. Without her I would certainly have made Becky's first wish, for my suicide, come true.

On Lake Sunapee, Winter 2000

well the hills are dense with the grass of pines young and tall
& the snow here hangs along the roads and paths where it has been stacked high
I cruise slowly on the well kept roads, making my journey take longer
than it could. My heart is fractious within my frame. I approach the condo
north of Sunapee, the light beginning to fade this early spring evening.

You are there, in the woods where you were a child. In the small house
you lived in, through many days innocent and fun. I rejoice in your company
in this room looking out upon Lake Sunapee. The pines and the birches
are the best possible allies in this life. Your picture on the wall when you were
twelve still moves me to tears. What a charming woman you have always been.

I wish Paige were here, or we had a child, or life was more stable than it is.
But I persevere, take my trek to the gun factory, find solace in the sun
setting through the myriad trees. Soon I will be with you, Kimberly. Soon
I will be whole again, here in the northern kingdom, here in the Algonquin's refuge.
Soon, in Sunapee, I will heal this day's odd wounds and find you, my reason.

2/2000