08 April 2008

Sandra Meek

[from Sandra Meek's Nomadic Foundations, 2002]


Even the next day you wouldn't
answer why — and I knew I didn't
know you, the smell of beer a rotted
halo around you saying I didn't know
what I was doing,
pushing the rock
into the mouth of your cave
by removing yourself from your
self the way this chameleon tries to lean
away from his body on stiff legs
and hopes I don't see him
there in the dust, the mottled greens
and browns of his skin,
eye raised on its cone
like the eye into the volcano
long dormant, no smoke or flame
down there, just darkness and air
enough to feed the flame if ever
it should return, the burn, the flash
of recognition, as when I remember
writing the other night, how the page gleamed
like damp skin in the candlelight, like
my skin, my face, and your voice
a knock at the door went

Nomadic Foundations

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