Tuesday, February 25, 2014

The Softer Sonnet


I think the softer sonnet might be for me-

Grandma always said, “A villanelle,
a villanelle,”

but I've had enough of villains and I've had enough
of dreary, steep climbs.

I'm a woman and I know what I desire.
My desires, neither cataclysmic nor vague:

I was a very fragile child but I grew to hold
a vicious love for those whom I would keep close.

I have been sick sometimes and shaky but the joke is on
my own cruel God, and mud in her eye.

I've been buckled. I've never been mastered.

Still sometimes I feel sick again, and I feel that pulse
of metal pain in my head,

and the full merciless moon makes me wish
for a man

a man who runs a little warm, to lay down on my body,
foot to foot and crown to crown



to steam the ache out of me.

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