1. The girl in sixth grade who budded early.
Boys wrote her name on the insides of their eyelids;
I never took a chair by her at lunch.
2. The woman who lopped off Sampson's hair.
No decent way to say this:
even her armpits smelled like heaven.
Who could blame the man?
3. Feather boaed woman singing on a piano
at a bar
at three in the morning.
I have never known a woman like this.
4. Delilah, overscented,
at sixteen. She's got a neck
like the tower of Lebanon, legs
like gleaming marble. Her tum is a pile
of wheat; young men swear they'll climb her,
squeeze her through their flour grinders,
bake them some mighty fine bread.
Her mouth, when she opens to yawn,
is full of lilacs; they curl and burble
all over her tongue.
The boys have never known a woman like this.
5. Before rain, I cut two stems,
slip them into blue vase.
Every time I walk through the kitchen
to toss a wadded paper napkin
or open the refrigerator,
they catch me. It's indecent.
As they age, they will become
ever more potent, browning and bruising
but never losing their heavy,
full scent. Even now, at my window,
they rise from the ground,
pushing stale air. Big-bosomed flowers,
bloom forever.
5 comments:
Obviously the sudden humidity is getting to me. My freak flag is flapping more furiously than usual.
That's what blogs are for, Kim!
Hmm. No freak flag flying at your blog right now, Amy. Only a really thoughtful Easter reflection. And you know, I clicked on the boxer woman's blog with the long post about her fight and found myself completely intrigued. What an interesting world. What intrigued me the most, I think, was her relationship with her trainer--a physical guru of sorts. I wouldn't mind a more spiritual guru of the same kind. Why do we not have more of these people in our culture--I mean, who we don't have to pay to see in an office?
oh, blast. that was me, not thrownfree.
kim
Well, that solves the mystery of wondering who the thrownfree was who has commented on my blog in the past!
Lisa is a good writer, and she captures the world of boxing well.
In my limited experience with receiving coaching, I can say that when done well it is a thing of beauty. You're the one out there taking the blows, but there's someone guiding you, even, as Lisa writes, when you're out of ideas. They can see what you can't, and you can allow yourself to be led.
I know when I show up at the boxing gym, I will continually be told what to do. I mean, nonstop correction. This is not because I'm terrible; it's because there's always room for improvement, and boxing is such an art form that you have to keep playing and see what happens. There is pressure to do what you're being asked to do, of course, but there's also a sense where you can relax into it--just do, not think. It's freeing, in many ways.
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