Today I want to remember, but remember
beyond mere recognition. To break
the chain that holds the gate in place,
that keeps these soggy woods soggy
under a ponderous gray sky. Where
is the props man? Have him haul up
that sky and lower one in a more
pleasing color: multi-flora. You have
no idea what it takes to sustain
this effort, to remember (I carry
four flesh stumps held to a piece
of gauze by the silver prong
of a safety pin). Tip the bucket
over, let the little stippled fish
swim to the moon. Take it back,
clean its insides of kelp
and constricted tissue. Use it as
a cup from which to drink today
like a woman who isn’t a mother:
just a woman, just a girl who wants
to sit in this chair with no need
to get up real soon, who wants warm
light to love all of her back, who
wants a sip of cold clear water.
12 20 2011
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
Another very touching poem, Luisa!
JUST A WOMAN
Warm light on the back are familiar fingers
but they will not be back as caresses again.
They can only unravel bandages of wounds
that will not heal but will not feel any pain.
I am done with them. All feelings betray us
before they become clear: they sap courage,
and quickly turn into skeletons of passion.
I want to be a woman, not a chair to catch
torn and tired bodies that need mending.
I, too, hanker for strength from the strong,
unquenchable hunger I could eagerly satisfy
when it finds its harbor and home in a place
I, and only I, can shape or rearrange or own,
or drink like a glass of cold water to cool me
down when I have no more need for loving.
—Albert B. Casuga
12-20-11
“Just A Woman” is also reposted in my http://ambitsgambit.blogspot.com/2011/12/just-woman.html