569 Readings | 3 Ratings

Icarus I, I

:          Beloved (I said / I called you
           Beloved)
           What went wrong?

:          (study a fingernail)

:          Beloved (I said /
           do listen, Beloved)
           Was it that I cut my hair?
           That I hesitated
           when you asked to take my car to the falls?

:          (                              )

:          Beloved (I said)
           get up, tie your shoelaces
           crossed around your ankles like you used to.

           Dance, dear– your silly polka! That always made
           us laugh.

           Your legs are looking even longer these days.
           And your arms.

:          (dig in a pocket)

:          Beloved, is it my hands you distrust? I know the fingernails
           are frayed; it’s just nerves that do it
           to me that’s all.

:          (                    )

:          Beloved what can I do. Can I make you
           something? I still think you’re
           lovely; I’m not just saying that!

:          (offering a settlement, a half-pair of wings)

:          Beloved you’re joking.
           Those old things.
           I couldn’t.
Posted 11/03/10
This poem appeared in Volume 172 (Summer 2010) of The CIMARRON REVIEW and is modeled after Muriel Ruckeyser.
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