-Out
of the Ivory palaces,
By
which they made you glad-
under
the shaded portico by the pool
stirred by the angel
they
all rush down, singing glory
I
was there at the edge, waiting
small,
folded in, shoved into
the
crack of the wall.
Do
you want to get well?
Sometimes
you don’t.
Sometimes
waiting is all the life
you
can manage.
I
had decided: I’ll spend
my
whole life crippled
warmed
by the sun,
watching
the rush toward miracles.
It’s
not a question of desire, but direction.
There
was never any water in that pool for me.
I
never belonged to any angel.
I
didn’t mind waiting, but when you
knelt
down I felt the disjointed breaks
press
in.
Why
didn’t you come for me
when
I was whole?
But
when was that?
This disease took hold
before
I could speak- I felt it
spreading
as I grew.
There
was a time when
I
was a fool under the apple tree.
You
could have had me then.
Wasn’t it
all for you?
Who
would have guessed
you’d
let a cripple in the palace.
In
the ivory tower
There’s
a sun bleached mat
Rolled
up and forgotten in the corner.
