I remember when I first saw you
curving around like your mother with vermilion,
then writing on small pieces of paper with pencil.
I took your hand and traced a thought that you hid
in the dry shingles outside our bedroom window.
You were my history and my beginning
and I was a road you would take,
under the trees to seek shade from my hold,
and even there I made your fantasy
with lipstick and tweezers
and the sweet smell of dirt.
Naked you were a circle within a circle,
because I was your instrument of energy and life
playing something about beloved
and I taught you the words
although you couldn’t say them outloud.
Ask me how I know so much, I said into your dream
where you road horses
and wept for loss of blood.
I am your woman…I whispered back, knowing the untruth
but saying it anyway.
When you moaned I mentioned I’d only be with you for a while
and made a path within your heart that said hurry,
hurry, for the time you know…it ticks.
You hurried for me like a perfect host
and pre-teened into a blossom of beguile.
I know I didn’t tell you or help you along with this,
for you see I enjoy the effect I have on play.
I bore your children with you, felt the milk drop,
for a change in voice…the nuance that tells what’s under
the thought of the men you loved.
I was your eyes that saw all directions of your children.
And now you curse me with your moody down.
Be thankful I was there, as I am for you, the teacher of this
small place where I gathered..
I miss holding the sweet tenacity that let me see your soul,
and how you loved within your heart…not your heat,
when I see you dancing with bare feet, I wonder
if you ever needed me at all.
[This message has been edited by Martie (08-08-2002 08:59 PM).]