Yes, I know it’s day 17. And I am not having much luck keeping up with the poem-a-day. But I decided to do some revision work today, and I’m feeling much better about at least attempting to keep my mind occupied with poetry this month and keep the practice going.
So even though it’s day 17, I offer here Poems 10 and 11, one a very brief little nugget and the other a revision of a poem in a series I was working on earlier in the fall using titles from “Battle Hymn of the Republic” lyrics.
Day 10: “without you”
without you
*
a 19th-century tubercular
lung-clenched, linen-fisted
awaiting a waft of salt air
*
Day 11: Succor to the Brave
succor to the brave
you crawl across concrete, broken bottle
mosaic pressed into your knees, and
you bleed for me
and I am sick at the sight, heaving,
wailing while you suffer, still
you bleed for me
and I shrink from your shredded flesh,
your war-fresh stigmata, yet
you bleed for me.
I flinched as I poured the alcohol, first in
your wounds then into our mouths –
you bled for me
and I dabbed with my best tenderness
at the places you were broken and
you bled for me
and then I cradled your head and stroked
your hair, your mangled limbs in our bed –
my God – how you bled.
