for D.B.A.
Christ,
she is so childish and so womanish
switches back and forth
without a shred or sliver of notice
after having stressed me severely
separating herself from me
on foot at the back of the room
while I sat, divided,
writing poetry in pain
while Olive delivered, lectured
able to half-listen, not really listen
not listen fully
when it was over, I reached out to her
"Do you have this?" I asked
Marion's Bougainvillea Ringplay in hand
at the end of left, outstretched arm
this, nothing more needed to effect
reconciliation
requested, required name of someone
she had to- she wanted to talk to
put on the spot I was unable to recall
swiftly she wrote
Obediah Michael Smith
upon the back of
my Milo Butler notebook
what it meant, what it said
I still haven't a clue
what I did know was
that it was 1 of or 3 of
the most positive notes
or the most positive chord
she had ever played for me
I knew it was as if
she'd written I Love You
on my book, on its front cover
or on the beach in sand
or in letters 10 feet tall
across the sky
woman-child I love and cherish
cherishes me also
when time permits
when she gets around to it
Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
2:52 a.m. 05.08.10
1 Comments:
quite wonderful. quiet and wonderful. wonderfully quiet. this is proper poetry. boi i don kno if you cud cook(since you always eating cereal) but this poem gat the right ingredients i tell u dat.
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