There's me on the basement floor, 3 am, drawing profiles of women's faces with chalk.
The chewing on bits of paper; the wringing of the hands.
There's you sound asleep every night; not even your eyes twitching with remorse.
Guilt. It's hard to come by these days.
My grandfather once told me that he sleeps well at night because he has a clear conscience.
What anchors you to sleep? What thin and lovely feminine hands pull you down
fartherfartherfarther
What mouth creeps over you as I lie on the damp basement floor writing the same word overandoverandover:
help.
~by h

.untitled.

You sleep as if nothing is lost

as if you have no cares in the world.

How in my darkest hour, these six sleepless nights,

you sleep the sleep of hounds: deep & unmarked.

Did you think of the boy and I?

Did you see our faces float away from you

as you courted long-legged disaster?

I could crawl to the roof and beat at my chest

long dog howls black & thick with sorrow

the sort that's only answered by the most pathetic of scoundrels.

~

What will become of this? of us?

Six days of pain & grieving; not unlike a funeral.

And you have not even once visited the grave of our love.

But go onward through sleep

to places I cannot reach.

~by h

.a myth of devotion.

When Hades decided he loved this girl

he built for her a duplicate of earth,

everything the same, down to the meadow,

but with a bed added.

~

Everything the same, including sunlight,

because it would be hard on a young girl

to go so quickly from bright light to utter darkness.

~

Gradually, he thought, he'd introduce the night,

first as the shadows of fluttering leaves.

Then moon, then stars. Then no moon, no stars.

Let Persephone get used to it slowly.

In the end, he thought, she'd find it comforting.

~

A replica of earth

except there was love here.

Doesn't everyone want love?

~

He waited many years,

building a world, watching

Persephone in the meadow.

Persephone, a smeller, a taster.

If you have one appetite, he thought,

you have them all.

~

Doesn't everyone want to feel in the night

the beloved body, compass, polestar,

to hear the quiet breathing that says

I am alive, that means also

you are alive, because you hear me,

you are here with me. And when one turns,

the other turns--

~

That's what he felt, the lord of darkness,

looking at the world he had

constructed for Persephone. It never crossed his mind

that there'd be no more smelling here,

certainly no more eating.

~

Guilt? Terror? The fear of love?

These things he couldn't imagine;

no lover ever imagines them.

~

He dreams, he wonders what to call this place.

First he things: The New Hell. Then: The Garden.

In the end, he decides to name it

Persephone's Girlhood.

~

A soft light rising above the level meadow,

behind the bed. He takes her in his arms.

He wants to say I love you, nothing can hurt you

~

but he thinks

this is a lie, so he says in the end

you're dead, nothing can hurt you

which seems to him

a more promising beginning, more true.

~by Louise Gluck

.answers.

Why did you travel?

Because the house was cold.

Why did you travel?

Because it is what I have always done between sunset and sunrise.

What did you wear?

I wore a blue suit, a white shirt, yellow tie, and yellow socks.

What did you wear?

I wore nothing. A scarf of pain kept me warm.

Who did you sleep with?

I slept with a different woman each night.

Who did you sleep with?

I slept alone. I have always slept alone.

Why did you lie to me?

I always thought I told you the truth.

Why did you lie to me?

Because the truth lies like nothing else and I love the truth.

Why are you going?

I don't know. I have never known.

How long shall I wait for you?

Do not wait for me. I am tired and I want to lie down.

Are you tired and do you want to lie down?

Yes, I am tired and I want to lie down.

~by Mark Strand

.conversation among the ruins.

Through portico of my elegant house you stalk

With your wild furies, disturbing garlands of fruit

And the fabulous lutes and peacocks, rending the net

Of all decorum which holds the whirlwind back.

Now, rich order of walls is fallen; rooks croak

Above the appalling ruin; in bleak light

Of your stormy eye, magic takes flight

Like a daunted witch, quitting castle when real days break.

~

Fractured pillars frame prospects of rock;

While you stand heroic in coat and tie, I sit

Composed in Grecian tunic and psyche-knot,

Rooted to your black look, the play turned tragic;

Which such blight wrought on our bankrupt estate,

What ceremony of words can patch the havoc?

~by Sylvia Plath

.longing.

I am not sorry for my soul
That it must go unsatisfied,
For it can live a thousand times,
Eternity is deep and wide.
~
I am not sorry for my soul,
But oh, my body that must go
Back to a little drift of dust
Without the joy it longed to know.
~Sara Teasdale

.forgetting someone.

Forgetting someone is like forgetting to turn off the light
in the backyard so it stays lit all the next day.
~
But then it is the light that makes you remember.
~by Yehuda Amichai (translated by Chana Bloch)