Guest Poet Lisa Gross
TO HANNES FOR HIS BIRTHDAY
I am sitting here in this metro car
thinking of you
words skip and slip
and I pretend the whirring of the car
is too distracting
but really it’s my thoughts and feelings
that are
blurred
castanets click like butter knives
dropped on cold marble
floors
everyone clammers through the door
casting tall liquidy
reflections
i breathe in too deeply
and it’s raining
here
everything seems so surreal
and misty
i can’t think clearly
or concisely
or maybe i’m just always like this
but there is also some kind of
clarity
some things seem cleaner and brighter
and just
more there
too much like a bergman film
too many symbols
i think
i don’t understand why
my handwriting is so erratic
and merging into yours
but my jeans are deep indigo
and i fear i cannot write
prose nor a complete letter
harmonies stitched under
numerous layers
cast themselves
into prayers
with elbows locked and
hair pushed defiantly
to the side
i see you
standing there
stifled giggles near
hair the color of dijon mustard
wearing a kafka shirt
no one really understands
blue and red rhinestones sparkle
the length of the river
and rhyme
i know that’s for sure
come to terms
and reach
the end
lemonlight lustre
candle light bright
crashes from the blue velvet sky
i reach out
and clasp your warm fingers
in mine
and say
good night
September 1997
Lisa Gross' Questions:
What is your initial reaction after reading this poem?
Is the transition from direct prose to more abstract ideas too abrubt?
Which parts work, and which don't?
Correspond with Lisa Gross at:
lagross@erols.com
with your ideas about this poem.
The Albany Poetry Workshop