Take me across the stage with you--
to Shakespeare and Vivaldi--to Indian summer in New Hampshire
and a winter road swollen in Maine in a hump like a whale.
You lived a life I couldn't live, somehow finding yourself
in a liberal college where money got you in. In. In.
I have always been out of fashion and out of time,
taking up my own specter of self--magnifying it with words
of Woolf and Wilde, Radclyffe, too. How confused was Stephen,
with the shoulders of a man and the heart of a woman?
Confused as me, I'd admit, after bringing up mother and father.
Romeo got Jiuliet and Daisy died on the hood of a car,
but autumn is a porch light a street away, with someone else's family
and the promise of a new day.

08/28/2009

Posted on 08/28/2009
Copyright © 2024 Angela Cotterman