Silence Part 4: Ordinary Magic

Silence Part 4: Ordinary Magic

A Poem by Marie Anzalone
"

for the one who let her go

"

it was never just about

the sex. it was supposed

to also be holding

hands at the kitchen table

at 1:00 am and exposing

heartaches. it was about

making breakfast, and walking

under the stars. inside jokes

and outside exploration.

 

it was always about

practicing ordinary magic.

 

the last man who wanted

to spend an entire night with her,

she clung to like a life preserver

in a riptide.

 

a boy says, “I am brave enough

to die for you.” a man knows he

has enough courage to be

changed by her wholeness,

to dream with her, to live

for, and with, her.

 

a boy says, let me

into your bed, let me enter

your body. a woman knows

it isn’t about sleeping with

some prince, it is about waking

up in the arms of her king.

the body must surrender

for the soul to be found.

 

her best friend says, you are

so restrained. so meticulous.

a fox cleaning its paws

after every meal. I never knew,

until I read your poetry-

you have this wilderness.

this passion. it can swallow

the earth, and everything in it.

 

and she responds, and I would

give it all if only he would let me.

but here I sit, far from home,

holding the Pacific in a thimble.

 

she was always the kind

to hold her greatest loves,

in utter silence. to express

only in verse what her hands

long to touch. all this time

passed in foreign territory-

 

and she still can never find

all the right words.

© 2017 Marie Anzalone


Author's Note

Marie Anzalone
Part 4 of a 3-part series- because I am terrible at math and have no idea how to write a trilogy. On the surface, written for an exercise with our poetry club, an exercise in silence. I decided to write this series from the perspective of a migrant navigating life in an culture not her own. This was inspired by a fellow poetry club doing an entire festival dedicated to the invisibility of the migrant. And as I started the writing, I realized that what I was documenting was not just the invisibility of the stranger, but also the cultural difficulty of navigating romantic relationships while trying to establish oneself in a completely different culture. Thus, this piece turned into a meditation on silence borne of cultural gaps in communication- sme reated to language and vocabulary, some not.

This was translated from the original I wrote in Spanish. http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/zorra_encantada/1934342/

picture is my own, the miracle that is a sunflower opening to the world

My Review

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Featured Review

This reminds me of Browning talking about a portrait, digging into character

"her best friend says, you are

so restrained. so meticulous.

a fox cleaning its paws

after every meal"

To me, this tells a lot, about why men maybe don't wanna wake up with her. Who the hell wants to hang out with a tightass? lol

Most men like wild women (not crazy, but uninhibited), but this person sounds soft and safe, but it could just be a "cultural" barrier. One can never be oneself fully in another country. I know cuz even though I know spanish, when I visit Mexico, I know I'm not as funny as in English due to my fluency, so it might seem I'm really not funny, or even dumb, to natives, which adds to alien anxiety.

Obviously beneath it broods a person screaming, or singing, or scribbling...

But as the poem ends "she still can never find

all the right words. "

Good stuff. Liked it, Marie.

Posted 7 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

This reminds me of Browning talking about a portrait, digging into character

"her best friend says, you are

so restrained. so meticulous.

a fox cleaning its paws

after every meal"

To me, this tells a lot, about why men maybe don't wanna wake up with her. Who the hell wants to hang out with a tightass? lol

Most men like wild women (not crazy, but uninhibited), but this person sounds soft and safe, but it could just be a "cultural" barrier. One can never be oneself fully in another country. I know cuz even though I know spanish, when I visit Mexico, I know I'm not as funny as in English due to my fluency, so it might seem I'm really not funny, or even dumb, to natives, which adds to alien anxiety.

Obviously beneath it broods a person screaming, or singing, or scribbling...

But as the poem ends "she still can never find

all the right words. "

Good stuff. Liked it, Marie.

Posted 7 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

Very nice piece I am also a hater of maths you believe next day is my maths exam and did not read at all

Posted 7 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

Marie Anzalone

7 Years Ago

LOL thanks for the note. I am a scientist and economist, so mathand I hve an interesting relationshi.. read more
I always find both true wisdom and an insight into my own soul in your works. This is no exception. Re-reading what I have just written sounds so inadequate when talking about this.

Posted 7 Years Ago


2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

Marie Anzalone

7 Years Ago

Dear Ken. I always find so much for introspection in your reviews, in your way of being in this worl.. read more
Ken Simm.

7 Years Ago

I didn't know that. Can you lead me to it?
Marie Anzalone

7 Years Ago

"Blueprints of Destiny." Probably on my secomd page of poetry here. :-) Picture of a tree, top of a .. read more

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Added on June 28, 2017
Last Updated on June 28, 2017

Author

Marie Anzalone
Marie Anzalone

Xecaracoj, Quetzaltenango, Guatemala



About
Bilingual (English and Spanish) poet, essayist, novelist, grant writer, editor, and technical writer working in Central America. "A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to ta.. more..

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