Two Poems

Effort at Speech between Two Lovers

after Muriel Rukeyser

: I am two.   I want to be open.   (How easy to say!)
I trespassed on military land in Argentina near
where the Andes began     :     not began geologically,
but began photographically.  I pocketed a severed
knuckle     :     pretended it was a fossil.

: Where do stories begin?     Let me try:
once I pretended I could lightning.  I broke
my mother’s heart.  She would never tell me this.
I spent years practicing unshattering for her, silent.

: I am two.   I want to open.     How easy to say split.
We loved storms and stormy things.  You thought
me a window nailed shut.  I tried to let you in.
I still count the seconds between sigh and door slamming.  
Call it habit: crickets chirp, I undress.     

: Let me try.     I’ve been more       and less.
Dandelion clocks through keyholes  :  countdown
to when you left.  I don’t blame you.
How easy to say             open me up.

: How easy to not have the chance.        I opened,
unwilling.  I was seventeen or eighteen.  After,
I begged           stop           for suicide           stop
like photographs beg for ink   :   need.  Then I forgot.  
I didn’t remember for a long time.                    Now ask me.

: I’ve been two so long   :   severed.           Open the other up.
She has no mouth, no membrane.  She is full of story.  
Where do monsters begin?  We don’t talk.
Split us, please. Ask us.           Let us try.


Crave,

for Briony

then yield: he spiders, splinters into pyramids refracting too much person – cleave.  War buddies, we shoot what we aim for – mi amor, sieve.  We have to before they story again — have to find the formula and when and when.  He museums for you, tries to collect trophies: a lock of hair, a breast.  But he’s afraid: this is what you’re built for.