White Chalk Blackboard
for Sonia Farmer
I’ve not written my poem of your return
I’ve not rejoiced in verse
over having you back
back home and in my arms again
your voice and verse combined, to savor
used to run to my bedroom, still do
to watch you on T.V.
that tourist ad with you, tall and white
without tan to tell
you live here, you’re from here
tote bag strap over your shoulder
an arm through it
browsing, brushing by stalls of straw vendors
how very convincing you are
when you’re away it’s all I have
the extent of contact
with you back, even if briefly
how much less lonely this island is
these islands are
so many Bahamian citizens and I
not of one country
you and I of one same country
of one same race
comme Auguste Rodin et Camille Claudel
how like the fragrance of flowers when we spoke
going deaf and because of noise
having to get so near
to collect your words in my ear
at times I imagine our being closer still
pushing, shoving, fitting
engine parts - one half and another half together
we could run a country, could run the world
we run words together like beads on strings
like flowers in Hawaii to hang about necks
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
6:09 p.m. 16.05.08
for Sonia Farmer
I’ve not written my poem of your return
I’ve not rejoiced in verse
over having you back
back home and in my arms again
your voice and verse combined, to savor
used to run to my bedroom, still do
to watch you on T.V.
that tourist ad with you, tall and white
without tan to tell
you live here, you’re from here
tote bag strap over your shoulder
an arm through it
browsing, brushing by stalls of straw vendors
how very convincing you are
when you’re away it’s all I have
the extent of contact
with you back, even if briefly
how much less lonely this island is
these islands are
so many Bahamian citizens and I
not of one country
you and I of one same country
of one same race
comme Auguste Rodin et Camille Claudel
how like the fragrance of flowers when we spoke
going deaf and because of noise
having to get so near
to collect your words in my ear
at times I imagine our being closer still
pushing, shoving, fitting
engine parts - one half and another half together
we could run a country, could run the world
we run words together like beads on strings
like flowers in Hawaii to hang about necks
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
6:09 p.m. 16.05.08
posted by Obie Quiet at 12:23 AM
2 Comments:
Inspiring. I like poems about connections and relationships.
Poems you select to comment on, Cynara, though written by me, tell me about you - how paradoxical, how interesting.
I suppose we always reveal ourselves through what we like, through appetite.
Out for dinner, given a menu, what do we select, what do we connect with? We pick even though all the meals are gourmet.
I like revealing myself though, laying myself bare. I get to see what's inside as well.
The specifics in our art, in our writing reveal us specifically rather than generalities.
A writer is never generic, not the good ones, not the great ones.
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