Saturday, October 29, 2011
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Lament by Wayne Koestenbaum
I want to stop being a person.
If only there were a choice--
a rat or signet ring
one could become--a waterfall
or the rocks the water lands upon, or an alien child
picking up a wet stone, drying it with a pocket rag,
taking it home, and placing it on his bureau top
so that other aliens can touch and admire it.
There is no choice, however.
I dare not answer
the knock on the door, the voice that says
Now you may become an alien,
the table is set.
Isn't it time to reconcile myself
to darkness in the kitchen, the confession "I have darkness,"
all whispered by one person, all forgotten?
If only there were a choice--
a rat or signet ring
one could become--a waterfall
or the rocks the water lands upon, or an alien child
picking up a wet stone, drying it with a pocket rag,
taking it home, and placing it on his bureau top
so that other aliens can touch and admire it.
There is no choice, however.
I dare not answer
the knock on the door, the voice that says
Now you may become an alien,
the table is set.
Isn't it time to reconcile myself
to darkness in the kitchen, the confession "I have darkness,"
all whispered by one person, all forgotten?
Labels: poetry
