Friday, August 1, 2014

"may be you are like me: scared and awake" by Olena Kalytiak Davis

A wreath of violets lain where my brain used to be,
Frantic. The usual. Scalded and cold. I descend. I work like a
I hear spring coming from a long mile off. A distant jungle-
It comes, it sings. Says: To be heard you must be let, be in. To
   be heard
It is best to hum, like water. It's true, I am barnacled and
   black. The un-
Deadly, the sternum, the prow.

                                   Was, I used to confess the nuns.
Was, the prettier they were, the less they said. Week after week
The one I loved like a secret: "I must avow. I'm of that type
   that's mostly
Hype." I let Him forgive her merely on the strength of her
   brow. Sister,
Says I, I wear it like a wife. Then I'd go wash my hands in mint
   and rose.
May be, you are all like me: all pose.

                                    May be, you are cutting each word harder
And harder, to listen, I'mall watchandwile,waitingtobe Called.
When I asked to be left alone, I didn't mean, like, now, like,
   this. Full-deep:
All solace and solecism. Un-sail-able. Un-vale-able. To spring,
   to light, to sleep.

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