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How I Imagined It

ISSUE:  Winter 1985

Who shall measure the heat
and violence of the poet’s heart
when caught and tangled
in a woman’s body?

In nightgown white
surrounded by the crickets’ wet silence

There was either no roof
or I could see through it

the sky violet flamingo cerulean I see now
it was Butterfly

a platform for decorative emotion

Living with my children is Punch and Judy
The sky is red meat cut too close
to the bone

My clam heart is sealed

If we drove to the molten silver lake
sat on the edge of it

If we went to the museum
where there was one quilt
of a thousand pieces and
all the important rusted tools

I would not need to remember
the street canopied with rouge leaves

the mothers in the afternoon
watchful on their steps

while the babies fell slowly

as the leaves
were entreated to the ground


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