sex at antioch
my friend, a woman who checks her
closet for labels that say large
(thinking that one may have shown up
during the night while she lay sleeping)
picks a popped button off the cold tile floor,
hands it to me, then pulls the tag
off her new dress and says, with no hint
of a smile, the definition of beauty is easy:
it is what leads to desperation
cervantes's windmill on fire again
a suitcase of snow in summer
seven spills you make across her
across the body of your memory.
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Author's Note
is everyone asleep?
an early poem
to wake myself
Other stories by Gary Percesepe
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sex (sometimes in the first line)
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lots to like here, reminds me of Sir Edward Elgar and his Enigma Variations
God, that's really beautiful. The pile up of esses at the end.
A POPPED BUTTON OFF THE COLD TILE FLOOR.....NICE. It conveys everything beautifully.
thanks, all--
i remember having read a lot of david st. john's poetry along about the time i wrote this one, and i see his influence now, re-reading--
Wakes me up. I like what might appear while she lay sleeping. Nice, all of it.
thanks, kim
Geez, Louise...a suitcase of snow in summer!!! I'm smitten. Completely unexpected. Merci!
What an ending here. Great piece.
again, sam, i thank you for reading and commenting--
There is a delicate, lovely philosophy here, and a movement that comes to rest so gently at the end. Thank you for sharing.
oh, hey thanks cynthia, for reading this one--
i wrote this for gabrielle--a poet i knew once upon a time, at antioch. where is she? who knows! i miss her--
Oooh nice poem, very cool perspective
o, v kind of you, susan, thanks--
i wrote this for a dear friend--no idea where she is now, alas--
Just came across this. Nice. *
thanks, beate
Unsentimentally poignant. An excellent little poem.
Thanks, Iain, for reading this wee poem--
What an extraordinary poem!
Philip, thank you!