Wednesday, May 25, 2011
She compares my writing to a bower bird
But truth be told another has
already summed me up: "This is
my letter to the world". Our Emily,
she did not have the internet.
She had to watch with next-door eyes
as brother carried off her girl
then cheated on her once he knew
she was too married to return
to Emily's pale arms. In exchange
we have that trunk of folios.
Well years ago at cold twilight
I put my palm to Emily's name
standing at her headstone where
even in death, she's not with Sue
and bursting into tears, I swore
I'd write and have my woman love
both, entire, intact. I would not be
a martyr to my art. And now
my hands are full. I'm juggling
and clumsy at it, give me time
But I can write for reasons other
than a lonely heart. I have a world
to tell, and love each night
to cross out heartache's blot.
© Maggie Jochild, 25 May 2011, 8:56 a.m.