I don’t remember Rome
My feet upon the Spanish Steps’ amber hollow
Too, the rushed-through blue
Maserati 5-speed — did I dream it?
Adam’s lapis aura above mine own
It all escapes me, St. Peter’s Square
Peering out over the shoulders of Saints
Counting each cobblestone
And, inside, La Pietà
What tears and blessings I carried away
Yet, I still see Versailles
Grandeur in the Hall of Mirrors
Forgiveness thence reflected
Learning of gold-gilded love
Take me, as, I’ve never been
Would the knave or the knife or whatever this pain be
Would usurp someplace else than the wound ‘twas left in me
Would that I have the chance with the welded tines of time
Would not I, having danced, not unspeak love’s blue-eyed rhyme?
Stand up straight today
Lock your bones back into place
Be ‘bout your business
Never is not a length of time
But a condition of the heart that wants to believe
And would welcome help
Understanding has capacity
Yet, will not blindly accept
An old soul you must assure, as you walk it across the street
Fight — innate in these bones
Blood-born, not a choice
The sun will set and rise o’er the strive to set things right
Love is what I was
Love is what I’ll always be
I’ll never understand why you didn’t fight for me
Know you are loved
No matter what
No matter the blurry bygone dreams for Paris
Whether withering and feeling dry-dead
Wondering what of this salt and this sea
Pensive be
Whether you love me
I love you
This love is
Mammoth, yet
Expanding daily
Despite the seeming quiet of Our Universe
This love is
Consecrated, still
Asking eternally
Weren’t we Our Home?
both hands on the steering wheel
direct impact
no hands on the steering wheel
no hands
steering wheel into flesh
the soft
then the crushing
crushing of ribs
an explosion
an exhalation of breath, lungs
lungs pushing
pushing the heart upward outward
no more breath
no more heart
no more air
no more blood
blood everywhere crushed now
I know what it feels like to love
Photo Credit: A.P. Cook
I originally came to complain
To cry so silent here that just my Creator could make sense of this outpouring
This graffiti-papered grieving
To tell the sky what it already knows
My disdain for the wafting scent of muscle on the backyard grill next door
My need for mercy for the muscle and might ripped from my chest
To scream to the sky of this guy, who took
And took
And took what I gave readily — easily — from love
And kept, and refused to acknowledge was gifted to him
Yet looming, this anniversary, I can neither complain nor cry
After all
For all the love letters
Eternal
Penned by lovers, that, too, paper and letter the sky
And God gave a garden and set my eyes
That I would see
Gardens of flowers for me
What historic shadows do we live with?
What bricked, mortared, and hole-riddled, but still beating heart will we keep saying suffices?
What love? What?
This battered banner
These stars
Ready now, to tell true stories
Able, finally
To let go
To grow
LisaRosier.com 