Poetry

Letter to Karen

You used to walk with a tilted head, sweet sashay,
Silly with expectation.
You held your moth gently open
Between pout and leer, and sometimes
You'd smile and allow us to see
Glorious crooked front teeth.

I was in town from college last summer.
I picked up your poetry mag.
I was surprised to find your name
Changed to "Natasha", though it does add mystery and it fits.
Karen could never write about
Brandy-soaked carpets and the girl
With black blood.

I'm groping here for that image.
Black Blood.
I tried thinking dark thoughts,
clovering my mind in thick dark honey.
I tried sitting in seclusion, listening to Jazz.
(I trapped myself in a record track. Submerged
in black Bock beer, I sucked in foam for food.)
I sat staring at the mirror for two hours,
Rejecting all thoughts, even any feeling of calm.

My blood flows red.

What is it Karen?
Nothing I can understand?
The blood of invincible gragons is black.
Is it a dark power in a woman's mind?
The little death you feel inside you, Love?

Those two crooked front front teeth
Were the source of my love for you.
They are your sole imperfection,
And the reason I could stand
You beauty.

Your black blood is something
I could learn to live with,
But something I must learn to live without.

Comments or questions? Email to info[AT]henryharvey.com.
Copyright Henry Harvey 2006.