USA

gracecav@comcast.net

Inflamed Like Trumpets

The argument was more than that. You loved me bright
then perfect heat fell in my eyes.
Whatever stayed was just an angel from Hell.
It will leave at last, dripping softly,
but oh the plunging
the overhang.
All transparences across the life we’ve lived
were total stars turning into yellow tides.
I’m accustomed to these springs
but the pain waits and waits to privilege us.

Wedding Day

Birds sweeping past the graveyard sing notyetnotyet
   call me to cross the water through a gate into the garden.

The white doorknob turned slightly. The chair moved
   to seat me. My hand near the fire was to

learn the way of it. Days stared at my face.
   All things which could go wrong were

my wedding guests. Before carrying the candle
   through the marsh, before following the casket,

would be this dance, the one with yellow leaves.
   I looked about and saw my future in

the paintings on the wall, a boat taking the water,
   a bride coming home on foot, a game about a ring

with diamonds. I felt as large as life in that
   door of the church. What would you have done?

People presented luxuries, the rugs, the cake.
   I turned away my tears which would be louder than bells

chiming across the lake. softer than piano music.
   What I had in mind was a picnic on the bank,

sleeping on the blankets before a high pitched sound
   signaled of our danger. We left before the snow.

Holding my white glove, running through the fields of
   grain, stumbling into a prairie of flowers, falling into their song,

we searched for the perfect banquet on a plate.
   Everywhere, we tried and failed, but steaming platters being

what they are throughout the world, we may have found it.

© All Copyright, Grace Cavalieri.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.