The Doe
Because of the rain, the meadow
is empty. How quickly the train
vanishes this view.
I press my ear to blank paper, hoping
to hear you, waiting for a break in the rain.
My mother counseled me to pray Mary
Mother of Jesus, please be a mother
to me now. I rouse the childlike
versions of my inner selves, who cling
to certain hope. O, delay!
How difficult, to wait. I tromp
through rain, sullying my good shoes
in the meadow to get close to you.
Like God, all beauty is proxy
for your beloved face.
The river floods.
Long, wild grasses fold with deluge.
The meadow does not know where
the doe goes on a rainy day. Only that
she goes
***
Open Water
I adjust my swimsuit, revealing
and concealing different bits of skin
with precision. A pelican
drifts at sea. Alone
where the self
and non-self-converge, where sun turns
water a molten, cobalt blue. . .
the water itself appearing muscular, as if,
at the end of its turning, something
might change.
The pelican drifts across
the open sea, taking off
then landing. Days pass
like this.
Each night I fall asleep to perception.
Those earliest memories kept?
within the mass of my body.
Is desire the pelican, or desire
the sea?
I know enough to know
moonlight cannot save me.
Throughout the night I toss
and close and open my eyes.
Love me
Love me
Worn graffiti on a billboard
cries out to the sea.
Author Photo Credit: Beowulf Sheehan
