Sunday, December 21, 2014

it pulls you down away from me

I've given everyone I know
A good reason to go
I was surprised you stuck around
--Fun. "All Alright"


I am wearied of dispensing kisses
like Pez candy to small boys,
Who gobble each up greedily,
With unwearying, grasping hands.
I have grown tired of lending kisses,
borrowing them to moochers
who never have the kindness
to eventually return the smooches,
Who fail to prove lendees with security,
Leaving a woeful and empty-handed lender,
Grown cynic by much usery.
This world's is too greedy for this peasant king,
So
I am coming home to Ithaca,
To make an honest woman of me yet.

I swore one warm June night,
As I watched the fireflies dart through
The still night air,
That I would remember me how much
My kisses mean.
I am through, I said,
Of inconsequential meetings of
flesh and tongue,
rendered without meaning.
I would never lie with an injurious tongue,
Then why--oh why--is my body such a perjurer,
Speaking in a language full of falsity?
When untrue words pass my lips, I blush,
And stammer, ashamed of me for professing
Something I am not.
So now my body must be held to a standard,
higher and purer, deeper and more true,
A newer banner of integrity.
I am coming home to Ithaca,
To make an honest woman of me yet.

And the next time I am on your shores,
I will disembark more gracefully,
Knowing that my ship has sailed
through stormy waters,
but has followed your lighthouse faithfully,
a homing beacon straight to Ithaca.
Unlike the schemer Odysseus,
wily and untrue,
Waylaid by Circes and Calypsos,
Distracted by the privileges of
Ancient men,
Lording over each new island empire
With my hubris and my chiseled Grecian chest,
I set my course for your loom and chamber,
Not to be deterred.
With steady heart, I gaze to the horizon,
Searching for the tumbled coastline
Of your shores.
I am coming home to Ithaca,
To make an honest woman of me yet.

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