To Sara, Sylvia and Anne

Sara, we met at the white elephant sale-

sleeping saint of the musty church basement,

hidden beneath the brick-a-brack.

Crackling pages, 

for years subdued in silent coma,

once opened became my soul’s reflection.

I bound your words around my wrists.

Ate your sorrow: lived, died,

and buried myself in your stanzas.

Desire met desire for an interlude in that

glorious place between nature and Heaven.

And yes, I would give it all for just one moment

of the ecstasy.

 

Sylvia, together we packed up the

litter of nostalgic expectation to be

stuffed inside the closets of empty guest rooms.

The day was cocooned in word wombs;

Each night, worms

swimming in a hot bed of anger.

The tenderness gave meaning to the common,

grasping at wishbones and things:

stones and petals,

owls, and bees upon the stems.

 

Anne- my wake up call.

I shoved your brilliance inside my mouth,

swallowing each confession like a pill

only to vomit out mediocrity-

choking on my sensor’s noose.

Another poem, another stitch in your burial shroud,

not enough to satisfy the “unnamable lust”.

Did you say all there was to be said?

 

I haven’t; not yet.

 

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

really appreciate your words in this poem...i did my masters thesis on plath and sexton..

and you capture them and their works with your words...love poems about poetry and poets.

jacob

[Helen Warner]

This was the kind of poem that you feel a little vulnerable when exposing it to the world. Your words made it all worth the risk. Thank you so much Jacob.

[zainul]

Oh,the magician of words!
How you charmed my heart.

[Helen Warner]

Your review has put a smile on my face. Thanks again for reading!

[zainul]

This is all pleasure of mine :)