La Fin de Chéri

(Influence from; La Fin de Chéri, Colette 1926. )

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Darling

one day you will either strike yourself out

with an exact deepening cut

or own the world with vinegar fingertips

coloring upturned lips

looking through letters in search of single word

to describe the ecstasy of youth

though before all these things I had

you first

before you knew what you were

and only lay in my arms shivering with

the desire of a young boy caught in his lust

one day when I am old

I will remember your beauty and capture

wound around your pomegranate mouth like cold leaves its burn and sun turns boys to gold

then looking into half drunk glasses and fallen buttons I shall

smile crookedly at my mad fortune

if fortune is the word

to describe amusing memories

when boys knew nothing of themselves

when girls were powerful and roamed their needs

like hungry bees seek nectar and we all rummage the pockets of our clothes

hoping for a missed penny

for time may lie against us

a sharpness in daylight glinting

but for those brief afternoons

when we have yet to inherit ourselves

know nothing of the plight of fading

with each wrought year

you looked to me for learning

I knew a little more by virtue of bad experience

and my belly full of wine and violence

turning them to my own understanding

touching you as your mother would

then something different, deeper, untaught

a house with many shutters

open one, touch the countenance of my pearl

you sighed

just like a girl opening herself

your legs as smooth as mine

your lips fuller and pursing toward

the need

I bowed sleekly

not because I honored you

but to feel the excitement quickening

against your muscled thighs

gathering that brief surge of fickle love

before it spilt and grew

sweetly cold between us

I felt that first

acrid taste of power

rolling underneath scotch blankets starved of end

not my kind yet

you were a beautiful boy

soft against me pliant by longing

I held this over our heads like a shawl

blocking out harsh light

inspecting its temporary reflection

your wistful elongate pursed in quiver

a silver arrow ready to pierce

any who chance your heart

and in years to come when

my hands are tired of making shadows

I will think of you and amuse myself

the girl who inherited memories and made

palaces of them

you can be my Chéri and

I, the woman who painted solace to your

first

ache

 

Fermented

dbb8e6a2f03166ae5c27a2b3bce546d4She told me

it is written

memory controls pain

once forgotten it takes a mountain

to revisit it again

or a certain pair of eyes

that retracing back

remind you of the eyes you loved

when you were youthful, fat on luck

and she did not have what it took to

return the emotion

she told me

it is written

memory controls pain

you can rinse out your glass

dry it in the hot Texan air

smelling of ancho chile and fertilizer

and it will not sprout again

until you are ready to expunge the day

start over with blank slate

she said this

because it was her way

to forget what she needed

rewind the silky tape

press erase

and I did not share this propensity

nor was I able

to shine her out of my hide

she had grown long claws

they stitched inside the cry

we both denied

in our modest pin tuck blouses

and matching bobby socks

turned down once

a slight lemon frill

sensible and cloaked

the passion stucco and quiet

tasted like strawberries

fermented in hot palms

drunk over crushed ice