Marie Antoinette
who lost her head over cake
I recall
her poison poise
bowed below the blade.
( did i want
both black and white,
here and there,
this and that?
did i want
to have my cake and eat it too?
did i want? )
that neck is familiar
waiting there
on the edge between
yes and no
(too much wanting
makes a metamorphosis:
that
strained
and
blanched
thing -- )
I own it –
mine.
the fragile
(when it becomes
arrogant
stupid
or vulnerable)
lands here
with nowhere to lay its head
but on this unyielding pillow
(now i am no more an island
no more a rock)
i am become that
not too solid flesh
which, when it fails
to melt of its own volition,
is brought to this place
of beginnings
cut short
waiting
whose hand holds the catch?
whose would stay the blade's fall?
waiting
waiting
waiting
when a mere breath
could bring everything to an end
July 2, 2006
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