For Us All: Wings of Wax

final in a series written as a set for a contest; theme, grand failure in love

I. Maybe

 

For every love song she dedicates

for you; to spite me, I could easily

write you all two or more poems,

about what it and you, all meant.

Especially you. But I could never treat

you like that; because we are people

of dignity. You are not some damned prize

to be won by the woman who outlasts

or outsmarts or outloves, the other.

 

Maybe I lived balanced between

my love for you, and her hatred of me.

Maybe I invented it all. I am after all,

both the unreliable poet and the

outdated homage to other eras;

not built for competition- survival of

the fittest, or in this case, the most

socially acceptable- was never my forte.

 

for I am a force; I am not one

to fight by force. I hone words and ideas,

I sharpen quills to exalt, not knives

to stab into backs. I am not her. Maybe

winning just means I would not let her

erase me. Not my persona, nor

what I was made to carry.

 

The eraser built for the

fleeting nature of pencil, never affected

any woman drawn in permanent ink.

South America calls me, and

so do you- and she has no say any more

in what I do or do not say, to anyone.

 

II. Small Measures

 

I am lost. I am walking this narrow

but winding path, and I am wearing a

blindfold. To the right, a field of cut glass;

to the left, burning coals. Maybe winning

can mean I have patience now to wait

for hands to help guide me. I am also not

any prize to be won by the last man

standing, I am the treasure unwrapped

in small measures, a story also waiting

to be set, to music.

 

I was the woman terrified of heights;

now I understand: it is not only possible

but also [sort of] safe- to fall apart

in more than one direction

at once. If one or none or all of you

who love me, choose me; whether

I learn to live in this world or die from

its indifference and absurdity,

my words and art praised, ignored,

silenced, or erased: My poetry and my

body’s energy still crossed your sun,

and yours, mine.

 

My wings melted

in your heat, and maybe I lost everything

in the passing. But I won this war.

Because, if I can still fly, with no wings,

I can lift us all up, with me.

Author's Note

artwork credit: Herbert James Draper "The Lament of Icarus"

work translated into English from my original in Spanish. Written as final full-circle closure to series of poems about an imaginary love quadrangle.

Reviews

[emmajoy]

I hone words and ideas, - I sharpen quills to exalt, not knives - to stab into backs. I am not her. Maybe - winning just m eans I would not let her - erase me. Not my persona, nor - what I was made to carry... '

There's so much sadness in your poem.. if closer would hug and pour tea or coffee, R. You use words in such a humane way, you don't mutilate them or yourself, you merely, fantastically create logic and emotions in a compact manner. R, you've always been more than able to speak as you want yet with tolerance and respect, for others as well as yourself.

You know how to stand your ground, defend self as when necessary, with the right attitude, with the constant right of knowing how you were reared and all else that' followed, has walked you though life til now. You walk your ownpath, bestyou can be,, according to scriptures and your own self- awareness.

The final stanza is more than fine, more than anything. .

( Brief mentions, will be arranging the Holidays collab again this year.. Don't know date or format yet.. but you might like to look in now and again on behalf of your Poets ) Hugs flying. >>>>>>

[Marie Anzalone]

Thanks so much for the lovely review, Emma! As always, I see myself better through your interpretation of my words. I was wondering just the other day about the collab this year; we would be honored to join again. As soon as you know the theme, please drop me a line as it takes me a while to translate everyone's work from here! Best wishes to you, dear... and hope you are well. I have been working 7 jobs until things even out here and I have been so exhausted I can barely function. Hope to be better, soon. Much love.

[emmajoy]

Seven jobs is five too many, dear friend' no wonder you're exhausted. Truly hope - and pray. life eases for you as soon as possible.

Will certainly forewarn you about the collab as soon as possible, Meantime, tis always and always has been, a great pleasure to read your writing, it's always so sincerely and powerfully written - and more. Hugs.

[Robert Trakofler]

this is so sad and so happy at the same time and the words are a force of nature as much as your wingless flight in the end of this poem:) Keep penning those wonderful fights and flights this is beautiful nice to read you:)