Friday, December 18, 2020

santa monica, 2009: for leandra

 

Out of lunch we made a nest

The wine, the salad,  the cigs at the end

And lined it with the bleeding rests

Of our talked down, forked over, knifed over friends

 

You and I, Leandra: behind you the  sea

Huffed and puffed crawled back and forth

On the beach where the pelicans pee

And the kids get their skin’s worth

 

Of sunlight – its so Muscle beach here.

We laughed like witches, immune, apart

From anyone’s poisonous batch of tears

From anyone’s slushy and broken heart.

-Karen Chamisso

 

 

 

 

 

 

No comments:

Dyslexia, ma belle! the writer and the gestalt of the written

  Does it help that Yeats was dyslexic? The editors of his letters, where the texts are raw, have decided that Yeats’ spelling was idiosyncr...