Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Crab March
for D.B.A.

what of her to connect with
tie like shoe laces
to secure steps we together make
or kick shoes off

beach feet, street feet, desert sand
feet want to go places, her beside me

the world over, the globe round
rain down, we together in it

her and me, caught in rain
all the pain killers tossed into
an ocean of years

nothing like the anesthetic that she is
I'm not numb though, not like Novocain
dentist injects to extract a tooth

sweet that she is, against life's bitterness
against pain in my life, my nights and days

her to recall later, instead of regrets
these joyous days, in love days, in love weeks

what made it possible
in the middle of February, our rendezvous

was her school closed
is she busy now, studying now
but I know what she's engaged in
preparing for graduation
busy as a bee hive

unable to see her, hear a word or two
rumble of thunder
when from other fronts
on another front
I'd have heard nothing at all

must wait must be patient
until my time, our time rounds again

want to be here still
when the stars in the sky
are ready for reconfiguration

told my wife last night
that this other woman and I
are as connected
as the moon and the tide
as the moon and menstruation

poems of her flow from me
not unlike that woman
with that issue with blood

not unlike Padre Pio
gift of the stigmata
injuries of Christ crucified
from which blood flowed

had to bandage his hands
to celebrate the Eucharist
to say Mass

cloths with his blood
smelled like perfume
not like the injured
back and forth, from and to PMH
to have bandages changed

Padre Pio's bandages
miraculously healed the sick
when contact was made

must insist
that our tie remains strong

know we've knotted
did she quilt it or knot it

question at the end
of Susan Glaspell's short story

how long will our story last
told her I need word from her
now and then

enough to keep me
her words are my sacrament

patty for us to take like communion
God if only I could get hers to her
get to see her
gift or two to give her, to deliver
out of my heart and into hers

chalice to drink from
chalice of kisses
platter of crumbs
where I ate her from

I must not leave a bit of her
I must lick the platter clean

God Almighty
I know that would make her holler
cry out, beg for mercy
she'd say uncle then
say something
say my name
call upon who made her
call upon her maker

were I to treat her like the lady
she has too fast become
is too fast becoming

canopy of heaven
studded with stars
where will we lay beneath it

upon this earth
in sand or dirt
or in wetness we made
on a mattress

no sheet, her and me upon it
fucking, copulating

in the month of March
in the middle of Lent

what of Andros crabs
they march when
they march now and they march then

and we sleep walk, we dreamers
we lovers who have to live apart

with two parts to play
in two separate plays
might as well have been
on two separate planets

as often as she is able to see him
as often as he is able to see her

on a tiny island
with its tiny capital


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
4:48 a.m. 10.03.10

2 Comments:

Anonymous D.A. said...

This has a very different feel. You tie everything in so tightly, so nicely. I like it. No I love it. The enviorment- my culture -me. You must know that your talents exceed the local boundaries of 'a tiny island with its tiny capital'.

Tu eres la maestra.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010 7:02:00 AM  
Blogger Obie Quiet said...

Thank you very much for your remarks, dba. I find them brilliant, inspiring and such an honor. "Tu eres la maestra." what a wonderful thing to suggest. I am humbled and appreciative. You are so very dear to me except for times in between hearing from you and hearing from you.

Friday, March 12, 2010 3:25:00 AM  

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