Sunday, April 18, 2010

The Call

no longer her nor here
A cry―Oh!

the outpouring word
more sound than word
yet, both―Oh!

i don’t want to leave you
you said, then
left me

along the edge. It was

the end of the season
& the sound inspired

beginnings over & over began
without symbols or centers―Oh!
darkness fell
in my throat and felt
delightful memories & squeals
& what was soft copper
beaten and hardened
banged on boxes of your things
gestures in what we


shared together;
each rhythm sucked in
never held the sound

i exhaled & intoned
but oh never vanished
& then the fear―oh! my god!
you left me (forever)

i confront your absence
everywhere & over & over
my loss grows larger and larger
(but never in a larger word)

in the distance
in the discourse
broken like a vessel
lost at sea―Oh!

i is loathsome

in a word
a sound
a thing

unloveable & left to sing
a blue and spotted in between
put off, put on―Oh!

the sound for you
grows thin in i
the you the way you wanted
without and

not within
dotted blue
the oh begin

again an i
& i in you
my spotted flesh

my earth and loss
not living her
in me unheard

hears the call
in naked cry
to me to trust it still

tied to the mast
the work
the word

© 2010
The Call stephanie pope