Love Poems from In Paran by Larissa Shmailo

LOVE POEMS from In Paran by Larissa Shmailo  Table of Contents I. Love Poems Vow Personal Madwoman He follows her Daddy’s Elusive Love For Six Months with You Quantum Love The Gospel According to Magdalene Death at Sea Williamsburg Poem Dancing with the Devil My First Hurricane Catawissa Road Jamas Volveré Skin Bhakti Shore Vow We will love like dogwood. Kiss like cranes. Die like moths. I promise. Personal I want to know what makes you tick. I want to know what makes you fickle; I want to know what makes you stick. Tell me which ion propels you which soothsayer spells you which folksinger trills you which hardwood distills you which downward dog twists you which protest resists you which neural net fires you which siren desires you which villennelle sings you which jailbreaker springs you which Uncle Sam wants you which calculus daunts you which lullaby lulls you which confidence gulls you which apple you’ll bite from which hither you’ll welcome what makes me Personal (cont.) forget the right answers consult necromancers allow the forbidden ignore the guilt ridden unlearn all the learning embrace this new burning to know what makes you tick.  Madwoman Here I am again walking among these vague and tepid people they evoke a slight feeling of distaste in me they smell my pain they have no idea I just hold my phone the cellular phone I use for a disguise and I talk, talk to the ultimate answering service I walk and I talk to God when you died I ripped the electrodes out of my skull and ran away from the land of cables and TV sets great battles of television were fought here great battles were lost Soho is no different from uptown or downtown it’s all money and talking and bars sex and cars job job job so I went to see the trees The trees were beautiful the leaves forming patterns of light on the ground and as the light played on my hair and my cheeks I realized that no one ever dies they just become trees even Marilyn Monroe was alive in a leaf I saw for an instant your face all aquiver in the shaking of a fern in the light of the wind and I kissed the trees so I knew you were not dead not really you would not be so cruel as to die really die Under the West Side Highway I met all the men who lived there and one girl she was 22 and pregnant and had AIDS I didn't stay long but I stayed long enough under the West Side Highway I slept with Jesus in a cap talked madman Spanish with Tito and the dirty apostles knew there would always be enough loaves and fishes for me knew that no matter how hard it got I would always be safe and held near close to God it was my destiny to be greatly loved I chose then to be close to God to throw away my clothing and be close to God there were times when not even a shirt came between me and God Under the West Side Highway I spoke to Jesus his face always changing now Alex who lived in a tent near the wall now Panama drinking wine now Juan in his tin and cardboard hut You followed me watched me you were worried how would I get home and back to the life I had known and I said look who's talking you died after all it's hardly for you to criticize me if I go off the beaten path a little too Madwoman (cont) And as for the others they worried too unknown to them the protection that I had and had always had I said to them all don't worry I will love you pray you home look can't you see….I am your guardian angel and you thought I was just homeless and mad as though God hadn't made the whole world just for me Well now I am cured I go to the bank I take pills I sit in restaurants have a job I worry about money and whether my new boyfriend has AIDs we don't even have sex he's too busy with his job it's just as well none of these men have anything that would compel you or keep you through the night its just banging bones after all You see very few men have souls and very few men have courage the few who have the courage to follow their souls are mostly all dead lost in leaves people kill them you know I don't know any more I take pills and talk into the cellular phone sometimes I think I hear your voice sometimes I think I hear you and then no it’s just the pills I get a hum in my ear its not you I know you are not dead but you're not here either and I miss you I am cured so they say but you can't really ever take the gift of madness away once you have been stripped by God of everything clothing family freedom senses you are his for life and I was stripped oh yes dear lord of everything every last thing God took everything leaving only my soul but I found that was enough And you you people think you have things but really the next breath you take is the only thing you have so how different are you from me Look at us again we the homeless and see us for who we are the archangels of God You can not take the gift of madness away I will always know about trees will always see the arch of my lover's neck in the patterns of their light I will know that the patch of sky between the birch tree and the willow is him his azure face and I will always hear the voice of God wherever I go no pill can block him out no TV set can drown his voice no fool can block the face of God from me Look at me madwoman I am Magdalene I am Joan of Arc I am St. Marilyn Monroe and I will always be your angel baby I will always be your saint pray to me. He follows her    He follows her with his voice; she sees him with her skin,  and drinks him with her hands, in the storm touch which  will crush his chest against her breast. The poppies pour  their juice in the red rain which will crack, in time, all o-  ther things. She drinks him with her hands. He follows  with her breast. She sees him with his chest, in this bo-  dy not her own, but which, in the night, is hers. Like the  heat that swells all  things, she sings the night with him.  He follows her with his voice; she sees him with her skin  Daddy’ Elusive Love I spent my whole life seeking it wrecking reeking eking it in hydra-headed phalluses in aliases & callouses in mamamamamamaMedusas in mirrors & seducers. I looked for it in boxers foxes rockers coxmen flockers in reprimanded randy bandsmen in wimpy limp & pimping handsomes in anal & banal boys. I slept with legions with legs like onions reeling & dealing in every last region then keeling & kneeling down drunk. I made love to none loved only one. men amen when? where? only hens & hares. But it all goes back to Daddy Daddy I'm your caddy I know you wanted a laddy. Sorry I wasn't a lady. Family history is largely hysterical mystery this old cold sold blowed hold on me is moldy geneology.  For Six Months with You For six months with you, I would Quit my lover Leave the city Sell my books. For six months with you, I would Live in Kansas Join a carpool Shave my legs. For six months with you, I would Be an actress Wait on tables Burn this poem. But what if it doesn’t work out? If it doesn’t work out I’ll join a convent If it doesn’t work out I’ll cut my hair If it doesn’t work out I’ll leave the country If it doesn’t work out I still don’t care. For six months with you, I would Break the true law Break my poor heart Break my vow. Now ask me what I’d do For a year or two. Quantum Love The universe is hot Expanding Immediate And this explosion is a paradox A particle and a wave Discrete and continuous Relative, absolute, and real. Time itself surrenders to the Big Bang. Space finds new dimensions And space-time curves like I do To your energy, to your gravity To our new age of relativity And our energy and our mass and our energy times light Are exponential Defying gravity Exploding creation A unified field. The Gospel According to Magdalene 1. I saw you first, writing in the sand. I couldn't hear you: they were cursing me, Throwing stones, screaming Bitch Cunt Whore Bitch Cunt Whore. I couldn't hear you. You were quiet and Papa was holding me, whispering in my ear, Telling me I was a man's woman, A natural born whore, And Mama smiled and turned her head, Paid the mortgage on my back, And spit on me: You parasite, she hissed, You little bitch: You made Papa bad. So I ran, ran, ran for my life In any direction I could Like a dead leaf I rode the wind I didn't know that You were the cloud that would carry me Didn't feel Your wind beneath my veins Didn't hear The birds I followed with my eyes. I flew without breath, Running for my life. 2. I couldn't hear you; You were so quiet, I still don't know why. And the pimp's voice was soft, Hissing in my ear, telling me I was damned if I didn't And the tricks were leering, saying I was damned if I did, but Do me baby, just do me now. And their women, their thin, cold women, Just told me I was damned. Magdalene-cont 3. I saw you first, writing in the sand, Even as I ran for my life. The mob turned to you, saying Rabbi, should we kill her? And you laughed. And I saw the word you had written in the brown sand And your hand writing twice just in case I didn't see And I saw the word as I fell to the soft sand, The word of beginning, the word in your hand And I took the word, and wrote it all over, And I laughed and I wrote and was free. 4. Stations I was there, I saw your face When you fell for the third time, When the cross dragged you under, When they nailed you at last. I was there, I saw your face When the pain of betrayal Would have made any man Sell his soul to be dead. I was there, I saw your face, When you cried to the heavens, Eloi, eloi, lama sabachtani. And the heavens split open For the grace of despair, For that prayer of despair, For the gift of despair. Magdalene (cont) 5. The Second Coming It's time for the second coming, boy: I just called to say That the boys are back in town, And I'm with them And we're ready to rock, Ready to rumble, Ready to roll. I know I've been quiet But I've been thinking about you, no one else. I guess I've been shy, haven't spoken my mind. They told me not to: Told me it wasn't nice for a girl. Told me not to climb the mountain, Not to teach in church, Not to drop the cross. But like you say, fuck 'em: I don't care what people say. So come see about me: I can stay out late tonight. I want to come with you, Be your biker chick, your angel, Your new cross, a true cross A cross with breasts. I will soothe your Armageddon, your Jihad I will be your avenging angel, I will be on your side this time, For you are my vehicle, baby, And the kingdom of heaven Is mine on your wheels. Let me be your cross. Magdalene (cont) The soul of a woman was created below; Now you know why. This time, next time, now: Raise an army for you Harrow Hell and Find some roughnecks To kick down the walls of your tomb. Listen: Hell hath no fury Like a woman whose man has been Gone a long time. I will not let you be crucified again.   Death at Sea The heart, someone wrote once, Couldn’t walk a straight line, Couldn’t pass the drunk test if it tried. Some men play the odds; their heads count cards But their hearts play inside straights. They can’t bluff, ever, Show their hand, most times, And always give the pot away. Steven died at sea Holding the dead man’s hand, aces up. A poker-faced corpse surfaces on the water: I see The orange safety vest Inflated around his neck Mocking God and me Now, now, now, now, now--- Too late. I held his wake in Vegas, Sat Shiva in casinos Where there were no windows, no daytime, no peace. I put him in a casket, A greedy one-armed bandit It still asks me for coins For its insatiable slot. I hate the beach The deadsea beach The sunblocked snorkeled oily beach The scuba lungs The deadgrass skirts The blind bikinied sunglass beach Death (cont) I hate the sea The soulless sea The sentient, malevolent swampy sea It don’t care if you live It won’t cry if you die It boasts like Yaweh It spits in your eye The sea The stupid sea. But I love the albatross That took Steven’s soul, And I love the lighthouse and the shore, And I love all sailors, both sober and drunk, That won’t kill a bird no matter what, And I love the salt and I love the storm, And I loved Steven, beyond most doubt, And if I knew then What I know now Could I have walked on water And pulled him out?  Williamsburg Poem shaking like the El beneath the Williamsburg train I wait for him to come bridge and tunnel meeting like the girders of the El his hard arms open my thighs in the hood they have names for him the girls say his names: they call him dos cafes con leche they say ruega para nosotros they say he’s yucca, white and shining like the crucifix on your breast they say he’s lucky like a spider they say he’s yucca, white and hard they watch him run like a wolf on the rooftops run like a wolf on the rooftops every night rumbling like the train beneath the sidewalk and the El above my head encircled by these girders and his arms he whispers spray paint and graffiti pulls me down into the subway pulls me down and up again lifts me to the bridge the girders tattooed light the open El his mouth burns the asphalt graffiti burns my thighs and I run through the clotheslines that flap on the roofs I run through the night after him. the girls give me garlic the girls all pray for me and I pray with the words from the spray-painted walls and the girders that shake on the El and I pray: he is my catholic con leche he is my old native religion I pray: ruega para nosotros I pray: ruega para mi. he is my brujo lobo blanco he is my amor y arana and my prayers are as dark and as deep as his night as the hole he will fill with his eyes here in me laughing he opens my Williamsburg thighs. Dancing with the Devil They say that if you flirt with death You’re going to get a date; But I don’t mind---the music’s fine, And I love dancing with someone who can really lead.  My First Hurricane Like a dead leaf Lifted from the scorched summer earth Now wet and almost green Like a dead leaf Carried by a thundercloud And brought to water by wind: I am here in the eye of the storm Dizzy, motionless, Suspended in the humid air Waiting. Trees tremble. I breathe slowly. I have known tempests, squalls, and gentle rain. You are my first hurricane.  Catawissa Road I have waited for him. For want of a loom, I smashed furniture, slashed beds, He is nuts: five AA meetings and he’s ready to breed, hollering waiting, a poor My pa is dead: I got the sperm and the house housekeeper, his assessor and judge. let’s go. Here’s some perfume and a novel for scolding his journeys. Here in my ya gal: My father’s dead; I watched termagant arms I ask him: why can’t he leave these these five months as he died Trojans alone? I know he never wanted to go. ripped the diapers off his ass Loneliness gone, something of creation at the end. That’s death for you comes after hospitals, sirens, and and I love you very much. one-eyed worms. Of the shards, cobbled dirty, we will build a tree as best we can for a bed. Jamas Volveré To touch the sidereal limits with the hands—Otero . Gone are the stars that are not the sun That punctuate heights no longer heights, Heights become space. Things I will never know With my proximity senses are gone, all gone: I will never hear a star upon this earth, But I feel the warm gusts your wings stir up. If in the daytime I were to leave bread and fruit for you You might come again. I am not so different from The mangrove swamp where you play.  Skin My tongue is bruised My nude is creaky Like a cabbage I sit and wait for you I stutter like an old gun: Take me Know The fast love of my hair. Your beady little eyes transfix me Like rats at the foot of my bed Your limp pendant wrists still hang on my door You snicker, get a grip. Your skin is a labyrinth I follow like a duct I follow the duct of your eyes like a skein To the comminatory bull Eyes forward, now toward, where I leap for the horns Won’t you come in, he sighs. You own too big a piece of me Your eyes say spare some change and I Don’t want to I Take and give no quarter and I’ve Already cut my hair. Skin is just sausage we call home. Skin is just sausage we call home. Bhakti I. “O brothers, why do you talk To this woman, hair loose, face withered, body shrunk? She has laid down with the Lord White as Jasmine And lost caste.” -Mahadevi-Akka* It is in the experience of the ignorant that we learn: When you have learned, I will destroy All those who have hurt you And their thoughts within you; Both the Lords of your rebirth, and the master whores Who took your night wages from you. I will feed these wolf children woe, words and wealth: Endless, they will talk until they choke. For them that hurt you I will give claws to walk on, Dirt beneath the nails that bury Lies beneath their feet And you will be my body, never-returning, Remembered as temple and body alone. And you will be my lotus, never-returning, Remembered as body, my temple alone. II. “I don’t know meter or rhythm I don’t know dactyl or rhyme My Lord of the meeting rivers, As nothing will hurt you, I’ll sing as I love I’ll sing as I love.” –Mahadevi-Akka II. The pulse of my rhythm be the pulse of your song My meter your timbral and gong The poem to destroy your illusions is written by Lord Siva’s Bhakti’s true tongue *Translation of Mahadevi-Akka’s poetry from Speaking of Siva, by A. Ramanujan. Bhakti (cont) Come choose, my beloved, the good dharma or ill: My lightning and thunder will strike where you will. When the road becomes weary and the wolves find you faint I will strew it with holy men, teachers and saints That ignorance may tickle your toes III. “Not one, not two, not three nor four But through eighty-four hundred thousand vaginas Have I come I have come through Unlikely worlds...”-Mahadevi-Akka You will leave your wise men: Your mind, with no object to rest on, Will ride on the horse of my breath. I will make love to you between rebirth With penis and womb, with land and sea, With wind and sun and death. And you will be my body, never-returning, Remembered as temple and body alone. And you will be my lotus, never-returning, Remembered as body and temple alone. And if you miss salvation, never-returning, I will offer it, Bhakti, never-returning Again and again and again. Shore It will continue, he said, even when the water breaks white, even when the surface currents seem to be going the wrong way. The river, I tell him, is gray, and the ocean is for others. I have crossed the river on stones and planks, while others swam, inviting me in and I dove just to please them, pretending I could swim too. My path is broken; the white caps are hard there are too many gaps, always I must find the connector: I use wire and wood and rusty nails, these broken rafts, whatever it takes to cross. I don’t know tides or currents, have never understood how the river flowed; perhaps it does not. There is only the leap, and my heart in my mouth: I can’t walk this hard water or swim, and I will never see land. I will be your dolphin, he says, and you will not drown. How can I explain that I am not afraid of drowning: I have drowned many times, come up, gasping for air, and dead, many times: Shore -cont What it is is that I can’t swim and the water is hard. It will continue, he says even when the water seems to be going the wrong way. 27 28 Larissa Shmailo www.larissashmailo.com [email protected] 1