This entry is part 40 of 92 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Spring 2011
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
[poem temporarily hidden by author]
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
Oh, that’s beautiful.
…often there is no word/ for such intermissions./ …A homing— the way you cup/ the back of my head in your hand…
INTERMISSION
There is no word for such intermissions.
A rendezvous at some theatre wing,
a random counting of all the lost days
when you travelled to parts unknown,
a quick embrace, prolonged gazes heavy
with unspoken desire. O, I know this
was a homing—the way you cupped
the back of my head in your hand—
you are back, but you have not returned,
so, love, while the curtains are down
tilt my face toward the crack of light,
find my hungry mouth, fill my empty
arms before the final act opens, or even
before they send in an old, tired clown.
—Albert B. Casuga
04-28-11