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Tuesday, April 10, 2012

SOAP OPREA LOVE, Rewrite, 2012

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Rewrite 2012

Piqued, the morning she moved out

I gave her back the photographs.
Let this thing of ours become distant memory.

A top-notch beauty, she's sensuous,
Smart, thrifty, and disciplined in her work habits.

But she does not keep her word.

After our first year
In a call to voice mail,
She poured out her suffering heart,
Her awful hurt,
And confessed that her former boyfriend,
He had physically abused her.

It was during the course of their longtime affair.
I remember Princess Diana explained
A third person had spoiled her chance for happy marriage,
With us, the same, this man’s specter, a constant presence.

I will not forget how she cowered,
Readying to walk out the door,
Childlike, fearful, shoulders slumped forward,
Eyes to the ground, she replayed,
I must guess a previous experience.

I did not raise my voice.

Were that not revelation enough,
She admitted, shortly thereafter,
To eating disorder, 'a form of anorexia',
She called it. So at root of our affair
Lay poor self image, explaining both
Her being with me, a man twice her age,
And that other, five-year romance
With a beast, a criminal whose coercive
Words and deeds proved his love was true!

Later this week,
From a spot above the head of our bed,
I shall take down her Grandfather's painting,
(A birthday gift from her to me)
Icon-like, it portrays the infant Jesus,
Who is held in his Mother Mary's arms.

I’ll return it with the Lord's Prayer,
A hand-colored photocopy of a cursive script,
Though taken from the modern language and character,
The document resembles an old Swedish in Gothic script.
We have it tacked on the wall in the kitchen,
It occupies space directly next to the refrigerator.

Does she believe in God? I ask myself.
It's early morning and I am tired.
Yeah, but I still would like to know.
She's sick; she doesn't know what she believes.

I have a big blank spot in my schedule.
I feel bad all the time.
I don't know what to do.

What am I without her? I wonder.

Can't I – I mean... Is there
Any way I could make her better?

I feel like shit.

I want to get up from the keyboard
And go into the kitchen and weep.
I may never speak to her again.

I loved to sleep with her,
Hoped she would stand next to me,
Become a loving companion, a wife.

Instead I got her boasts,
Sadly Pyrrhic confidences about her imminent victory,
She vanquishes the ghost of her former lover.

One day she came to me at work,
Asked me to step outside, and whispered
How at 4:00AM that same morning in our bed,
In our home, she recognized her failure,
The fact she could not give herself to sex,
Would ultimately mean his deviltry triumphed.

In reality she had lost the fight.
The terror was ascendant;
He stood beside our bed.

But now a fool is talking.
I am the one, screw loose,
Who hoped we might write love songs,
Which themselves become legend,

Who wished the kind of love, no restrictions,
Limbs askew, monkey love, she and I
Bound up in a passion limitless, a universe,
A thrilling heaven, like some ancient vision
Whose paradise has eternal, physical bliss.

By God! Given over to this physical ecstasy,
That happiness and children be our bounty,
That we might enjoy peace,
And our love attains power of example,
It brings cynosure, light for the ages.

No! Intimacy failed us.

Just make a simple, innocent suggestion,
Say dinner for two, name the New York City eatery, Fanelli's, Dojo's, or the Tavern on Eighteenth Street.
Grab your cap, back we go, travel-time is seconds.
Lo and behold, we are playacting in awful memory.
The point, never know what may trigger a haunt.

The sadness of it all, she lives in a drama,
It is as though she hosts a soap opera in her brain
The episodes endless, from day to day, hour to hour
A terrible wound unexpectedly reopens,
Each a scene, time, time and time, again.
Does she relish the nightmare theatrics,
Does she enjoy the show?
She whispers that she wants that old boyfriend dead.
Forgive her Lord, she knows not what she thinks.
Forgive me Lord,
I knew enough to avoid her in the first place.
She eschews healthy flesh,
The pain of the past captivates her soul.

I am afraid. The demon, the devil drives her.
And now, when all is said and done,
He alone is her dream lover.

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