Mary Meriam

Lone Poem

Manhattan. Early eighties. Marilyn
is in, in word, in mind, in bed, in air
I barely breathe, invisible, in skin,
as if this is our lesbian affair.
Instead, she’s rising as I crack and sink
and roam to Womanbooks, as if to save
Madwoman in the Attic. Dusk like drink
on sidewalks back, four punkheads misbehave.
One grabs my crotch, for what, for laughs? forget
they could have raped me there in Central Park,
for I was mad and cursed their sorry threat
with lip, with will to live, like wild tree bark
on thick and stately trees I wander under,
lost in the star that tore my heart asunder.

Eau Sauvage

Two windows weeping lilac curtains, sheer
and long, and lilac bushes perfume air
from snowy peaks. A quiet room, austere.
A mattress on the floor, a desk and chair.

The disco dancers throbbing in the dark,
drinking and drunk. Speed shots of burning light.
I go there. Why then does this woman park
herself in front of me and break the night?

Her eau sauvage for men. Her downcast eyes.
Her short black hair. Intoxicate my mind,
Professor. Say your body tells no lies.
Loosen your full white bosom from its bind.

At last seduced, I kiss her on the lips.
Again, again, the driving downbeat whips.

Anticipation's Sweet, So Shall We Go There?

Anticipation’s sweet, so shall we go there?
Here is my proposition apropos there

You witness this, the book of my seclusion
Rollicking from my tongue, the words aglow there

I watch your contrails through my windowpane
The curtain parted for the distant show there

And in this deep disturbance of my sleep
A figure much like yours is dancing slow there

Thicker and thicker honeysuckle vines
Sweeter and sweeter blossoms seem to grow there

I make my little plans for future kisses
There I begin, and there, until I know there

The roundness of your chin, quite merciless
Faint humming of a bee beneath the snow there

Ladies in Waiting

Again, the ladies in the store,
standing behind me with a smile,
will wait but want a little more.

They want to chat, perhaps explore
my fuzzy cobalt jacket pile.
Again, the ladies in the store

will want to pat my shoulder or,
enchanted by my T-shirt style,
will wait but want a little more,

will slip their fingers past the door
to check the label. Versatile!
Again, the ladies in the store

will add amusement to the chore
of shopping up and down the aisle,
will wait but want a little more

of me, it seems, and my rapport.
I’ll wait with them a little while.
Again, the ladies in the store
will wait but want a little more.

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