Back then when we were young and after I'd had a lover or two
I wasn't looking for a man at all but if I were I'd want one
Who didn't want to fuck me
Like looking for an honest man in college or a bar or a truck stop
But you found the glance with slit eye and the slow slide down
Found your body of great richness and utility anywhere like
The wall of the bar just outside the back door, the bushes plumped
Like pillows for your hips. Strange men, old friends, ex lovers,
All comers. You fascinated me so unlike were we
I was the girl they all wanted to fuck
You were the woman who fucked them all
Married with children, it didn't change a thing
You were the one expelled from the campus coffee shop
Obscene language, solicitation and other outrages and I
Worshipped you. Let me live with you.
I'll watch the children, I'll wash the dishes, I'll be the nanny
I'll be the bait and then we'll switch
You read the Tarot Cards and you were the Queen of Cups.
You drew the The Tower reversed, bodies flying through the air
You insisted I was only a Page. I'd had no children. I would always
Be a page, a child, childless, no matter what my age. A Page
I drew the Devil upright and the Hierophant reversed
For a costume party you would go as Medusa, and knew
Enough to call me Persephone. I was that girl, the mere Page
Carried to the underworld by Hades, another name for Daddy
(I told no one your real identity, Daddy, King of the Underworld)
And yet the Queen of Cups knew the ghost of you in the circles
Under my troubled eyes too damn pretty to really be seen.
Ice girl holding The Devil's hand wearing a well pressed black dress
The Page of Swords in love with the Queen of Cups
I still am
©2009 Peggy Pendleton
10 comments:
... I am stunned! The level of honestly coming via these words and your style of expression is just brilliant! And, don't get me wrong, I can also write that this is your draft.
I can only imagine that if this is a draft, I cannot wait for the final piece.
Keep writing!!!
This particular friend that I'm writing about has a large book of poetry out and it is so cerebral and cool. I see unable to write poetry at all unless it is a wail, a scream, a long whine. I write hot, she writes cold. I wonder what to make of that.
I'm glad you like this. Most of my later editing happens like this: I just changed the misspelled word "bate" for the correct word "bait." See, it goes on in tiny bits like that. Twas a reader who was kind enough to point out the misspelling to me. So if you see something wrong like that, kindly let me know.
Loved this -- the imagary, the Tarot symbolism and the way you explore the complicated relationships we women can have. Just brilliant!
thats interesing what you say about writing hot and cold
This makes me wish I had a friend like that!
Sweet, visceral, work. The Tarot works so well in verse--I'm thinking of Eliot.
I do love your candor and spirit; I detect nothing pretentious...
I'll come back when time allows--
Night--
Wow.
This held me... Beautiful, Utah.
The Tarot lingo is so poetic, it is in the drivers seat and instantly hops in the back seat, if you know what I mean...
Poetryman, thank you. You're praise means a lot to me. I take it as encouragement to carry on.
Jake, you are new to me. I'll have to follow you home. I appreciate the illusion to Eliot. He is perhaps my favorite. I hope my admiration for his work hasn't turned me into a mere imitator.
:)
AMAZING imagery!
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