Thursday, January 12, 2012

In this misty place where hunger finds us

The fog has rolled in thick in Portland this winter. Here's my fire escape, disappearing into it one morning.

Portland fog

Driving through it, I keep thinking of lines from what was my favorite poem in college:

Fog Report
By Audre Lorde

In this misty place where hunger finds us
seeking direction
I am too close to you to be useful.
When I speak
the smell of love on my breath
distracts you
and it is easier for me
to move
against myself in you
than to solve my own equations.

I am often misled
by your familiar comforts
the shape of your teeth is written
into my palm like a second lifeline
when I am fingerprinted
the taste of your thighs
shows up
outlined in the ink.
They found me wandering at the edge
of a cliff
beside nightmares of your body
"Give us your name and place of birth
and we will show you the way home."

I am tempted
to take you apart
and reconstruct your orifices
your tongue your truths your fleshy altars
into my own forgotten image
so when this fog lifts
I could be sure to find you
tethered like a goat
in my heart's yard.

1 comment:

acuff said...