Sculpture of Debris on the Waterfront by Martina Reisz Newberry

Sculpture of Debris on the Waterfront

by Martina Reisz Newberry

I’ve come to know the way the
details of love are a prayer
or maybe a polite demand
that sets God’s teeth on edge.

We most certainly did that:
set God’s teeth on edge. Our prayer
became fetus and I shed
it—dough—before it could

become bread. That was the
only Amen we’d know. We chose
love, then song, then grief, then
surgery, rending us one

from the other. We rescued
nothing, retained nothing,
leveled our landscape. Long
after Us, I decided

to go on tour, wrestling words,
fighting voodoo, casting spells.
You disappeared. Your image
has stayed on though—makes me

edgy if I call it up.
What does all of this make me?
A Veteran of Foreign
Loves, shuffling along salted

corridors, watching the stars
leak melted ice cream or
maybe a composer of
the Symphony of Sneezing?

Well, loved one, if you remember
Us, me, Us, whatever…
if you do, think of noontimes
that never achieved grace,

evaporated words.
Think of sexual anesthesia,
how it finally failed,
rising, falling, drowning in thunder.

End of the poem

15 random poems

 

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Some external links:

The Bat’s Own Poetry Cave 

Talking Writing Monster.

Duckduckgo.com – the alternative in the US

Quant.com – a search engine from France, and also an alternative, at least for Europe

Yandex – the Russian search engine (it’s probably the best search engine for image searches).

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