The Poem She Didn't Write and Other Poems. Olena Kalytiak Davis
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of whose ambition?), how can I stand?
Said: Sir, Sad. I still breathe the ether of my first
Marriage feast and, man, it’s bad. I am full-famished.
Famished-full. Breed? Idiot up, pedant down,
And that there rag, that’s my wedding gown. Not to mention
Incest, parricide, Sir, miscegenation...
Naked in my raincoat, singing up my
Second rate, I wake now to find myself
This long this late. This low. Alone. If poisonous
Minerals, and if that tree... Which part is dream
And which part life? Which part poet which part
Wife? Which parts his, theirs, and which part wholly
Mine? I see. I steal. Where is the part of bringing it
Back to what you (i mean I!) really feel? Why, Mr. Robert
Lowell, why do we dream count marry die? Who strewed
These flowers at my feet, and will he be back
To make it nice and neat? Green and doomed,
When will I finally learn how and when to leave a room?
If lecherous goats... and if serpents envious...
MY GOD WHERE IS MOTHERFUCKING YOURS, HIS,
MINE, OURS, MERCY BEING EASY, AND GLORIOUS?
no, i would have said: No. sorry, sir, but i’m
the kind that dare dispute with thee as you/
i do with me. i hope you don’t mind.
i don’t know how to have and hold. keep what?
keep where? i lose and fold. unable to make
or mark (or count) as i am taught and told,
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