|
Had it rained you couldÂve been my umbrella
by Lisa Marie Brodsky
At toll booths I ask if theyve seen you.
They point to the South. Then to the North.
As I wander through the bookshop,
you are the first author who comes to mind.
You are an extinct species
I kiss back to life.
You are full of labyrinths, full of sounds
that rise out of your mouth like whale-songs
And to think: you see yourself as
a just, an only, a looked-over.
Au contraire: clouds have your many-
faceted expressions.
I hear a little girl whisper your name
as I fall asleep at night
and as I sigh after an exhausting day at work
I sink into a couch that is you.
Pillow that is you.
I massage you into my hair,
the lotion that I put on my skin.
You are my ink
that stains me.
02/05/2005 Author's Note: this may come out in a weird format.. sorry..
Posted on 02/05/2005
Copyright © 2024 Lisa Marie Brodsky
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kyle Anne Kish on 02/05/05 at 06:35 PM Wow, Lisa ... this poem chews me up and spits me out at the same time. Your eclectic choice of words had me reading and taking in the full flavor right until the end. Then I read it again. Then I read it one more time. Thanks so much for the read. |
| 
