Lament
–for my mother
The time
everyone else
had left the party but the music was still throbbing
and Stefan
two languages
away from me
had my blouse half undone–
that’s the light
I mean
orange
smelling of alcohol
dangerous with its promise of brilliant regret
The time
I jumped
heavily clothed into the water
for lifesaving practice
and the water
pulsed
above me
reflections subdividing like amoebas–
that’s the distance
I mean
deeper than
my arm’s length
resonant with resistance
The time
I climbed
on Trinidad Head
alone on black wet rock
shocked
by the sudden
brawl
of ocean too close–
that’s the texture
I mean
where anything to grab onto
is life
even if it tears your flesh like a cat’s claw
flyingtrapeze.net 