|
Comment on this
article
Choices: Neruda or Rilke
by Jane Roop
Come in slowly my sweet.
While you were away I read Neruda.
Encouraged by his exaltations
I patted white powder on my breasts,
bought blue-ocean contacts,
re-planted the bald spot on my mount.
But
no goblet breasts developed,
no surge of tidal passion emerged,
my bush remains modest.
I converted to ordinaire,
primal woman, ordinaire,
with hairy legs and armpits.
This female seeks safe place to sleep,
good food. Has efficient digestion,
and follow through.
Welcomes hugs, a joke.
Solitude.
I sacked Neruda, towed him
to the used book store.
I stocked up on Rilke, a man of sense,
who knows a flash of anger yields years of grief,
a man of generosity, who believes love is two solitudes
protecting each other.
Yes, my dear, sweet love,
come in slowly.
Slowly, come.
I've rearranged the furniture.
Return to:
|