<xmp> <body> </xmp>


............
.....The Poetry Of.

................ Karen Corcoran Dabkowski


......
.........
................. What I Saw At 4:35
.............
.............. Eighty eight
.............. degrees, asphalt like a
.............. sun
..............
.............. surface
..............
.............. baked beyond the
.............. coolness of my car
.............. queued up, creeping down
.............. the hillside with the others toward the
.............. Birmingham Bridge
.............. and there was
.............. in my
.............. rearview
..............
.............. Charles Manson
..............
.............. Christ
..............
.............. or prophet, one foot turned
.............. inside, almost tripping the
.............. other
.............. booted one. Heavy trousers, winter
.............. jacket, black hair
.............. hung like drapery down the
.............. reddest, boiled lobster face I'd ever seen,
.............. creased in pains I couldn't imagine
.............. he was
..............
.............. walking down the
.............. Bus Lane, marked with
..............
..............
.............. diamonds
..............
.............. diamonds
..............
.............. diamonds-----something
..............
.............. that we
.............. ordinary folk
.............. had never
..............
.............. trod
.............. upon.
..............
..............
.............. I had the idea
.............. it all
.............. meant
.............. something
..............
.............. wonderful
.............. and terrible
.............. and terrifying
.............. together, wisked with life
.............. and death and fine belief held onto
.............. with our baby fingers, filaments to a place
.............. where we'd all meet and maybe
.............. for once
.............. it'd be alright.
.............. It was important
.............. he was walking, that odd
.............. pilgrim,
..............
.............. so estranged
.............. and then
.............. the light changed
.............. and the mystery left
.............. with the pulled, sad green of going.
..............
..............
..............
..............
.............. Double Stride
...............
.............. Now dangle down
.............. old dopple
.............. ganger,
.............. double-walker
.............. shadow self and
.............. sometime
.............. guide-
..............
.............. ride
.............. the sidewalk
.............. here beside me
.............. fast to feet
.............. and stitched to tenfold
.............. fingertips
..............
.............. you're the one
.............. who dances
.............. when I slip into
.............. the wainscot
..............
.............. you,
.............. the knife
.............. who slices
.............. when I walk away-
..............
.............. who
.............. never
.............. prays- but pulls the
.............. sun up everyday
.............. you are
.............. unstoppable and overlay
.............. my crown to toe:
..............
.............. I love
.............. you so.
..............
..............
..............
..............
.............. Stripped Away
..............
..............
.............. Brushing my teeth,
.............. looking into the nude
.............. face of childhood, last trace of
.............. Maybelline, all pencil lines
.............. gone, a cold child stares back at me
.............. and I am reminded of the chalk faces of the Children
.............. Of The Damned: eyes slate. No expression.
..............
.............. Statue children who killed everyone
.............. they looked at. That movie
.............. used to frighten me.
..............
.............. Now fifty,
.............. studying the
.............. child there still, I see the
.............. damage done. I have become
.............. by what I do without: the greedy fists
.............. that carried everything to mouth
.............. to nurse, seek food, flesh and chest
.............. walls beating,
.............. hearts mashed close enough
.............. to hear, I've weaned away.
..............
.............. There is not
.............. one soul
.............. I could not say goodby to
.............. with a steady gaze and turn and walk away;
.............. not one. I am the stone child
.............. and that doesn't even
.............. scare me.
..............
.............. I cap the toothpaste, turn out the light
.............. and realize what a comfort
.............. darkness is, and what a blessing,
.............. silence.
..............
..............
..............
.............. Main Page


This site sponsered by
<xmp> <body> </xmp>