Writing this in a hurry. The house is quite busy for a supposedly solemn Good Friday. I never see the importance of these things as I have very conflicting feelings about religion and the church, but tradition is an important thing in my family. Someday I will eventually have to face all of this and write about it, but for now this will have to do.
My grandfather’s cousin attempted to kill himself a few days ago. He swallowed twelve pills. He was the closest to a father my own father will ever have after Lolo died two years ago, so to hear this news over breakfast was not easy to take. I still haven’t taken the time to really think about it, so my reaction will be slow. For now, here’s a poem:
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp;
Guns aren’t lawful;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
They called it, THE WORLD QUESTION OF 2005: What do you believe is true even though you cannot prove it?
I might be a year late, but here it is — I believe that pain is intangible but it doesn’t make it less real, that men can be loved despited their impossibilities, and that skin is a country, and our hands inhabit it.
A Fairly Sad Tale
I think that I shall never know
Why I am thus, and I am so.
Around me, other girls inspire
In men the rush and roar of fire,
The sweet transparency of glass,
The tenderness of April grass,
The durability of granite;
But me- I don’t know how to plan it.
The lads I’ve met in Cupid’s deadlock
Were- shall we say?- born out of wedlock.
They broke my heart, they stilled my song,
And said they had to run along,
Explaining, so to sop my tears,
First came their parents or careers.
But ever does experience
Deny me wisdom, calm, and sense!
Though she’s a fool who seeks to capture
The twenty-first fine, careless rapture,
I must go on, till ends my rope,
Who from my birth was cursed with hope.
A heart in half is chaste, archaic;
But mine resembles a mosaic-
The thing’s become ridiculous!
Why am I so? Why am I thus?
Freshman year, university. I was such a fool! It’s one of those things you remember years later, and you shake your head, and you try not to let your smile reach the corners of your mouth, but goddamn. That was quite a year.
A Certain Lady
Oh, I can smile for you, and tilt my head,
And drink your rushing words with eager lips,
And paint my mouth for you a fragrant red,
And trace your brows with tutored finger-tips.
When you rehearse your list of loves to me,
Oh, I can laugh and marvel, rapturous-eyed.
And you laugh back, nor can you ever see
The thousand little deaths my heart has died.
And you believe, so well I know my part,
That I am gay as morning, light as snow,
And all the straining things within my heart
You’ll never know.
Oh, I can laugh and listen, when we meet,
And you bring tales of fresh adventurings, —
Of ladies delicately indiscreet,
Of lingering hands, and gently whispered things.
And you are pleased with me, and strive anew
To sing me sagas of your late delights.
Thus do you want me — marveling, gay, and true,
Nor do you see my staring eyes of nights.
And when, in search of novelty, you stray,
Oh, I can kiss you blithely as you go…
And what goes on, my love, while you’re away,
You’ll never know.