PAD - Day 7. (6) Self- Portrait Poems

Ah Whitman

Song of myself?

how to compare

I too had some rippling

muscles – a belly

you could bounce

a quarter on

breasts that had boys

speaking only to them

as though I was the

Headless Horseman

it wouldn’t have mattered

their gazes so fixed

back then

all the physical stuff

in a nice package

that got a few

doors opened

but not any of

the important ones -

some of which still

remain firmly shut -

others which swing

wide open on creaking

hinges – now that the

breasts have fallen

toward the stomach

that can now hold a

handful of quarters

and so

I sing

~

another piece of the puzzle

they sat on the steps

in the summer

a hot misty night

he smoked blowing

smoke rings into

the heavy popsicle

scented air

and asked with

a voice like Alice’s

caterpillar ….

“Would you rather

be the product of

cold calculation or…”

smoke rings floated

“the product of love”

She already – a twelve

year old Nancy Drew

knew the answer -

having found their

teenaged love letters

tied with blue satin

ribbon in some

boxes in the basement

but liked making the

choice for herself

then –

 s

   i

     t

       t

         t

           i

            n

              g

                                    on the steps

                                    that summer

~

Self- Portrait

with the same name

as Hester’s love child

and Mrs. Rosenberg

her kindergarden teacher

confusing – whether

high art or a finger-painting

beginning to think

all is the same

changed only by

the critic viewer

~

in the night…

Standing behind wooden spokes

In the night

In the night

Waiting with a wordless scream

For something keenly felt but as

Yet completely totally unknown

The wheel turns