Separation (a diorama)

You are the stranger in my life,
The one I hardly know after years.
Your presence in bed itches me.
Our limbs flail gently throughout the night
As if carrying secret grievances
Into the country of our dreams.
There are impassable chasms along the way
That widen each time our eyes
Accidentally meet.

Our love is razor-edged with guilt -
For deeds done and not done,
For tears escaped into a tearless night.
For voided emotion and rasping sighs;
And the pressures of hands,
Entanglement of thighs -
Rapture of lips.

I intend to hold it apart from me,
Examine the multi-faceted planes carefully,
Enclose it within a fragile pink sphere,
Entitle it: "Separation".

You love me
And I love you,
But (CATCH 22)
Your mind and mine
Haven’t collided
For quite some time.

You always tried to understand
The enigma you said ‘I do’ to,
And though I discounted your suspicions,
I must admit they’re true.

After these years spent in
semi-conscious clutches,
What will our bodies say
When these nocturnal flailings
No longer occur?

These bones will groan alone.
Frantic fingers will search
The unoccupied hollows of the bed.
The expanding pain will dissipate,
Regret will be kept to a minimum.
Life will proceed from there.


My World

My world and welcome to it:
A bit of a dump - I know.
Cluttered; scattered notes;
Art supplies, long neglected;
Beer bottles become memorials
As cigarette butts rise from the ashes;
Among all this my thought browses.

What was it I fled from?
The overpowering sweetness of mediocrity,
Or my refusal to assume its responsibilities?
Hen parties and Spades tournaments,
Family reunions and church on Sundays.
Overflowing laundry hampers
And dirty-dish Da-Da sculptures;
Trash in pyramidal heaps
Tumbled across unvacuumed rugs.
He grumbled and accepted.
I was loved there,
Was rearranged by that love.
I left part of myself there.

Back in my little corner
I continue to try to discern
What that jigsaw piece
Consisted of. What’s missing?
Here, I answer to no one.
The seat on the toilet is always down.
I can sleep sideways of the bed
If I damned well please.
There’s no one to beg,
No one to tease;
This is what I fled to.
But I won’t go back.

© 1977 Melissa Songer

Morning after a Long Night’s Joy

The sun will rise soon.
All night this dance in my head has kept me awake.
Daylight waxes; distant songs come closer,
The chill of April air envelops with a shock.
I shudder on the concrete steps.

Just what is this inane joy?
This bliss trip you manufacture so periodically?
The sweeps’ dipping and sprinting after insects
Doesn’t cause such euphoria in you normally.
Is this some sort of intoxication?

Delirium is a better word.
This morning the entire circle revolves around me.
The Van Gogh plum tree: picture-still with bird;
The pale blossoms shimmering in the morning grey,
I await the sun to make my night complete.

What will you do then?
Launch into some sort of pagan ritual and dance,
Shed all inhibitions along with your clothes,
Whirl with the wind, tap out the universal cadence;
Are you that gone?

I’ll tremble in the latest sun.
Frozen, I’ll smoke this final joint and watch
The skittering wisps blow toward the new-green fields.
Listen to the peckerwoods; sit in this joyful twitch;
Then I’ll get up and go to bed.

© 1977 Melissa Songer