ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF HER FIRST MARRIAGE
had i never leapt across the yellow grasses
of that meadow near Point Reyes to the sound
of the Hallelujah chorus never wound my adulterous
legs around my flute playing lover never been so blatant
so lewd i might still be married to that boy
from high school still be small and hidden in the pocket
of his green corduroy jacket peering out at other people’s
lives had i never danced to the bongos and the setting
sun at Big Sur never almost run away with that ferryman
masseur who could transport me to the land
of naked bodies and temple whore lore had i never been
such a bitch such a floozy never danced topless
in a bar never known the lotus flower
to blossom in my own goddess body never lived alone
with three children fed them eternal
soup of the week never been apprenticed
to a witch studied spells and incantations never sat on a wooden
floor howling with what came to me out of a cave never seen yellow
bellied death sitting on my bed forcing me to face
my real life— get up wash face bring fever down stay alive
to raise the children— would i have found my place in this sweet
bed where wanton and wild are loved by a man
who has light in his eyes where tigers and lions roam yellow hills
in my dreams and both sun and moon shine upon me?
—from Rattle #25, Summer 2005
Tribute to the Best of Rattle
__________
Naomi Ruth Lowinsky: “One June, many years into a happy second marriage, a poem began tugging at me, reminding me it was the anniversary of my first marriage. The poem insisted on making me look at what a ‘bitch and a floozy’ I’d been on the way out of that marriage, and how essential it was that I made such a mess. It came as a whoosh of memories, which I gathered unto a strand. It helped me gather myself. Often my poems do this for me, like a good analyst would. They confront me, tell me my own story, make sense of my life, free me as only the truth can.” (web)
