the he...of me

October 30, 2008 Candace Morris 4 Comments

you are not safe, my saint.
but you are good.

the way you focus intensely on schematics
the way you wield your drill and 120-inch sliding compound miter saw (that i bought you)
the way you command a vision of my quiescent regality when all i am is a lump of tears on the kitchen floor
the way you sleep hot and wake up happy
the way you choke up to speak of your father
the way you sprint like hell to my precipice, throwing yourself into the abyss of my soul's journey
sacrificing
you
for
me.

you slumber even now, i will join you to completion.
your soul slowly, deeply sighing rhythmically with a peace most humans have not known, the benevolence of the orchard.
faith most cannot fathom, a curse of the unknown.
a woman no one could love, a pleasure all your own.
and a gift no one can give, a calling transcendent.

"i want to be a man."

toe-headed cheerio thrower,
pee on the oven in your sleep toddler,
solitary apple tree gardener,
han solo pre-teen enamored with the russian romantics,
benedict to many, but to your beatrice only one,

you will be
you will find
you will teach.
rabbi mine.

~your lady disdain

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