Saturday, September 11, 2010

Two Goodbyes
for D.B.A.

unfold her soul in the poems I write of her
and fold it again

my soul too, folded up, folded in with hers
in the folds of these poems

what a struggle it must be to be a student
a poet and in love with me

the energy these require, must take, must sap
she unable to remain awake up until midnight

up since early morning, 7 or 8
I get to wake up, go back to bed whenever I choose
got out of bed sometime at night, not long ago

when hungry eat; when tired sleep
are the rules of Zen which are as well
what nature requires

what different clocks my baby and I are on
my God, we are having an affair, without a doubt
like none I have ever known or ever imagined

what a moment a minute ago was
I'd been holding on while she slept
and just at midnight, after calling her name
a time or two, calling out to her and getting no response
I decided to ring off finally, after about 15 minutes

enjoyed listening to the soft music of her inhalation

she shifted about and then I could hear only
the noise the fan made--that was impersonal
we were with that, less attached
pained me anyway to hang up, to detach

it was midnight exactly when I rang off
a minute after, 12:01, she called back

"You hang up?" she asked and I felt
I had been disloyal to her, to us

"I could no longer hear you breathe!" I said
sighing, loving her

she on the other end, sighing also
"I'm going to bed," she said, "bye!" she added

how it broke my heart that we were about to be
and then that we were actually, cut off

this poem to connect us, to bridge what seemed
an equally painful gap for her and me

sleep as well dividing us
sleep a friendly divide though
like a friendly ghost, like Casper
whom I wonder now if she knew or if she knows

this relationship of ours
is going where it had not ever been
taking her and taking me to places in life
and in our hearts never before visited

this is nothing ordinary,
what is happening between us
I should have known something was afoot
about to transpire that evening she showed up
at the end of Walcott's lecture/recital
in the big-new, brand-new theatre at COB

it seemed I was more significant to her than he was
she was too late to see and to hear him
but she was told that I was there
she'd left and she returned, insisting upon our encounter

look about her, way she behaved
I attempted to avoid confronting or owning

"I have to go now," she said finally
her going was an undesirable extraction
and when she turned to go, I bathed her behind
with my eyes and sighed

never knew though that we'd have ended up
in such deep waters, in the ocean of love

we'll end up in Venice in a gondola, just her and me
and the man who'd row us to our destination

there we'd- where we'd honeymoon
though every day we share even now
is as sweet as honeymoon

Woody Allen and Soon-Yi, I cannot help recalling
I shall have to share with her
Woody Allen's "Wild Man Blues"

© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
12:31 a.m. 11.09.10


Anonymous d.a. said...

You have an amazing ability to convert what is still life into moving breathing poetry what is art what is love. Thank you for the portraits.

Saturday, September 11, 2010 10:53:00 AM  
Blogger Obie Quiet said...

Thank you for the muse you are - for the air you are. You are life to me - make it worth living for.

Saturday, September 11, 2010 11:27:00 AM  

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