The tears have dried in the stillness
As if yet the silence might roar
In some distant time
In some instantaneously infamous place
It is I think a good question:
Did she ever read the Italo Calvino
Six Memos for the Millennium I mean
A present that I gave her
Did she pick up her pen & write
As I asked of her. Did I appreciate
The beauty that she introduced me to
Do we unfairly put upon our lovers
Do we overload, with expectations
Our friends, relatives, employers and patrons
These I think are good questions:
Did she share my views, my sensitivities
My desires
My incomprehensible flirtations
Did I empathise, or collaborate
Or listen, or co-operate or in any way
By being useful or helpful
The good questions just keep on coming:
Should I expect you to understand how we were
Does it matter that you did not know us
Neither to understand, how & why we were together
If though I tell you; of boating lakes & outdoor
Moonlit Shakespearean theatre, tell you, of vacations
& soft seashores; nights of passionate lovemaking
Does that that require further good questions
I tell you all of this so that you may work out; why we
Are estranged; why we did not communicate
Also to tell me, if, after eight years apart
Is this an unhealthy obsession, have I missed my
Way on the path of grieving, or is it healthy, and
Reasonable to still pour out these words of love lost
This is the last of the good questions, the rest is up to you
This is a poem from Vagaries:
Love of The Key to Room 149
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