Marita
Please find me
I am almost 30
This is my voice
but I am only whispering
The amazing vulgarity
of your style
invites men to think
of torturing you to death
but I am only whispering
The ocean is whispering
The junk-yard is whispering
We no longer wish to learn
what you know how to do
There is no envy left
If you understood this
you would begin to shiver
but I am only whispering
to my tomahawk
so that the image itself
may reduce you to scorn
and weaken you further
This is the only poem…
This is the only poem
I can read
I am the only one
can write it
I didn’t kill myself
when things went wrong
I didn’t turn
to drugs or teaching
I tried to sleep
but when I couldn’t sleep
I learned to write
I learned to write
what might be read
on nights like this
by one like me
