The Poem She Didn't Write and Other Poems. Olena Kalytiak Davis

of whose ambition?), how can I stand?

      Said: Sir, Sad. I still breathe the ether of my first

      Marriage feast and, man, it’s bad. I am full-famished.

      Famished-full. Breed? Idiot up, pedant down,

      And that there rag, that’s my wedding gown. Not to mention

      Incest, parricide, Sir, miscegenation...

      Naked in my raincoat, singing up my

      Second rate, I wake now to find myself

      This long this late. This low. Alone. If poisonous

      Minerals, and if that tree... Which part is dream

      And which part life? Which part poet which part

      Wife? Which parts his, theirs, and which part wholly

      Mine? I see. I steal. Where is the part of bringing it

      Back to what you (i mean I!) really feel? Why, Mr. Robert

      Lowell, why do we dream count marry die? Who strewed

      These flowers at my feet, and will he be back

      To make it nice and neat? Green and doomed,

      When will I finally learn how and when to leave a room?

      If lecherous goats... and if serpents envious...

       MY GOD WHERE IS MOTHERFUCKING YOURS, HIS,

       MINE, OURS, MERCY BEING EASY, AND GLORIOUS?

      no, i would have said: No. sorry, sir, but i’m

      the kind that dare dispute with thee as you/

      i do with me. i hope you don’t mind.

      i don’t know how to have and hold. keep what?

      keep where? i lose and fold. unable to make

      or mark (or count) as i am taught and told,