Wednesday, May 05, 2010

Up My Steps
for D.B.A.

You must let her have her personality
you must let her be herself

won’t want her- don’t want her
forced ripe, would not taste right

be satisfied,
wait patiently
as we do for seasons to run
until they run out
and for another to commence

squeeze tomatoes, mangoes, bananas
how soft they get, they go

firmer better, sweeter
won’t want her beginning to go bad

getting full and waiting, watching

bees and other insects about her
and I become impatient, jealous
of what they gather around

of what of her they are drawn to
or drawn by
smell, color, contour as she ripens

how round she grows, she goes, she gets
too big to ball my fist about
must use two hands to hold her

this round, this week
more careful about
who I tell about her, about us

so it does not dilute or dissipate
so it saturates more and more

joy I was, last week, unable to contain
unable to keep to myself

had to tell the world
give everybody some
of what we are, of what we have
of what she inspires

like rum, like what drips like this

like liquor when it is made
thickened like this, intense like this

apple brandy Noah Dearborn
brewed in private, in secret

gave a business executive
a lawyer a sip, reward
for assisting him chop wood

it changed his life
sold all he had and with his wife
elsewhere out west
acquired a vineyard

I taste life, taste like it never tasted
sweeter than ever before

wanted to be generous
too much wasted

this week, this round
with what she has filled me again
want now to be stingy

thin slice of it in poems I write
for people who read

will try besides, not to open my mouth
not to tell the world
not to spread the word

not to spread too thin
the sustenance she serves

able to extend a life
I thought, at 55,
just about over and done with
to the longevity enjoyed
by Leo Tolstoy
or Marc Chagall

is it off to Russia, her and me
this girl and I, with our pens in hand
arm in arm

how cold though will Russia be

love enough though between us
to keep us well, to keep us alive

to keep us hot, in whatever winter

© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written on Tuesday, May 4, 2010
between 12 noon and 9:03 p.m.


Anonymous D.A. said...

This poem feels like it is of another time. Inspired by Keats uhh? I love the imagery, in fact it reminds me of his poem "To Autumn".

I anticipated you ending the poem with "to keep us warm" maybe you could say:

how cold though will Russia be

love enough though between us

to keep us well, to keep us alive

to keep us warm, to keep love alive

Although you speak of the present time you seem to be reliving a moment that happened before perhaps(acaso/peut-être) in a past life.

Friday, May 07, 2010 2:32:00 PM  

Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home