Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Summer night, one short of solstice (a poem)

Summer night, one short of solstice

Monuments lit from within, without, above
reflect on the sweat drip on my sternum

while I dance in bare feet on memorial steps
surrounded by accents and tongues

My body is a wet fire on this night
a night to take advantage of plaza music,
a night to be taken advantage of

for though I don't want him to hold my sweaty hand
I still want him to lead the dance.

The obelisk frames the silhouettes
of lovers, visitors, children --
a calm throng chastened by the hot breeze,
cool only to pre-baked skin

The city relaxes into native southern languor
but not me

I can't capture the lovers' silhouettes
solitary against the limestone
universal in their pose

Tonight I dance with Lincoln
sprawl at the base of the obelisk
eavesdrop on languages I have yet to learn
all to feel significant
and noticed
and wanted

yet I remain undercover
against my will.

1 comment:

  1. Anonymous9:50 PM

    Even the liberated woman expects him to take the lead, doesn't she?