"And then taking from his wallet
an old schedule of trains, he'll say
I told you when I came I was a stranger
I told you when I came I was a stranger."
--- Leonard Cohen


For Lana: Wherever This May Find Her

I'm the most surprised person on the planet.
Your coming to see me off at the airport
has my mind scratching glass seeking words.
Why is it that in this relationship,
you seem to have gotten all the speaking parts?
You're well aware that I have loved you
for the better part of two years,
bottling that emotion, afraid to pop the cork.
Your eyes implore mine, rotating like
a searchlight over Baghdad seeking
the stealth laying carnage to your heart.
Twice in the last week you've made it evident,
the Grail was mine, but for the drinking ---
That and finding a shorthand for adultry.
I'm guilty courting the love of a married woman,
made worse, you're here at my departure
telling me we aren't free to choose who we love.
I know my desire must die of thirst,
so I turn, boarding pass in hand,
the last words I ever hear from you,
"Write me!" --- Thirty-five years later I have.



Poetry by Brian Oarr
Read 566 times
Written on 2010-01-26 at 06:57

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Ah Brian, the end of January, the heavy weather perhaps, seems to bring back memories, regrets and self-recrimination. In other words, the stuff of poetry, depressing poetry, but poetry nonetheless.

Let's hope spring ain't too long in comin'.

jim
2010-01-26



How sad with people who think we're not free to choose who we love ..

but a fine poem, Brian.
2010-01-26