cathryn cofell | seclusion

4 11 2007


Poetry Dispatch No.127 | November 22, 2006

LOVE POETRY WEEK, Wednesday, No.4

Seclusion by Cathryn Cofell

There it is, burning beneath you like a Posturepedic zen.
You are alone, you are not
alone, you are afraid, you are not
afraid, you
are in love.
This is where your stomach growls, your ears sweat.
This is that single light burning in a barn.
A ratty pink blanket, a trashy novel, a cocoon of instant hot cocoa.

There is a bay on Lake Superior, no clouds, no black flies.
There is a crowded city street, the clack clack of heels, purses held tight.
Oil and earth, coal and flash, these are the elements.
Dandelion and leather, sand and rain, these are the textures.
A body snug, tight and curled, the backseat
of a lime green Pinto. The first time.
The last time. All the empty days between.
Do you smell the lonely ill—their hot temples, their bodies like wet leaves?
The cave of a womb, scraped clean. The cave of a heart, scraped clean.

Bring it to your nose like an old wool sweater.
Hold it to steam like a sealed envelope.
Long for it. Sin for it.
Beg. Wallow.
Want so much it makes you tingle, makes you press your hands between your legs,
makes a tiny gift of the tiny gift of you.
Strip it naked, shake it out like a dirty rug, beat it senseless,
strap it on, do a little dance, make a little love,
there is no other place
this place that makes us beat
this place, that makes us beaten
this one place we all share,
this is the place.

cathrync1.jpgfrom SWEET CURDLE, Marsh River Editions, 2006, $10 (M233 Marsh Rd, Marshfield WI 54449

Editor’s Note: Brand new. Highly Recommended ***




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