the poet and the witch

i made you read my poetry, which isn't really a nice thing to do to the people whom you love. especially a sestina.

so in honor of a day of love which brought me a cookie that i didn't get, a proposition that i didn't take, and a the promise of a phone call that i want, here are the two love poems that keep me from buying 6 cats, a keg of chardonnay, and the english patient.


Rent

If you want my apartment, sleep in it
but let's have a clear understanding:
the books are still free agents.

If the rocking chair's arms surround you
they can also let you go,
they can shape the air like a body.

I don't want your rent, I want
a radiance of attention
like the candle's flame when we eat.

I mean a kind of awe
attending the spaces between us-
not a roof but a field of stars.

-Jane Cooper


Sixtieth Birthday Dinner

If in the men's room of our favorite restaurant
while blissfully pissing roserva spumante
I punch the wall because I am old,
I promise not to punch too carelessly.

Our friend Franco cooks all night and day
to transform blood and bones to osso buco.
He shouldn't have to clean them off his wall
or worry that a customer gone cuckoo

has mashed his knuckles like a slugger
whose steroid dosage needs a little tweaking.
My life with you has been beyond beyond
and there's nothing beyond it I'm seeking.

I just don't want to leave it, and I am
with every silken bite of tiramisu.
I wouldn't mind being dead
if I could still be with you.


-Michael Ryan