Thursday, March 13, 2014

March 13th

-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.