Friday, June 26, 2009

Weeping for Tammuz


Was it my window, open to the night
Inviting dark honeysuckled air, giving breath to my dreams
That made him think he could simply
And bend his golden head
To kiss my sleeping eyes awake?

I only saw him for a moment (if I really saw him at all):
Golden green shimmering silver goodbye...
But I heard him sigh
And with his kiss my eyes were open to the night
And I took flight

And I saw
Myself, flying, east, into the sun
Hovering wingless over city streets
And I saw lovers
Kissing on sidewalks
Pressed up against rain-slicked doorways
Inhaling each others souls.
And, passing by an open window,
I saw myself
Weeping for Tammuz.

And I turned myself,
And I saw
A blind man, feeling for fruit in the open air marketplace.
Piece by piece, slow open fingers
Lingering to read the mango's sunrise color
By the smoothness of her skin,
Feather-light touches, alive with sympathy
To every demure orange-peel pucker, every jaunty ribbed find.
Empty palms restless, seeking the weight of ripeness
Cupping each perfect pear, just-so,
So easily bruised, yielding its flesh to the barest pressure of an insistent thumb:
And in the blank reflection of his empty-eyed glasses
I saw myself
Weeping for Tammuz.

And I turned myself
And I wanted to go home, back to my blanket sleep,
Return to the carefully crafted contrite comfort
Of a cool and quiet bed for one:
Uninterrupted by the abruptness of love,
Where the sounds of my own heart
Are safely kept muffled behind locked doors,
By vigilante guards with shoot-to-kill orders:
Locked and loaded, patiently patrolling the hallways of my soul, watching for
Any wrong motives
Any wrong moves
Any twitch of desire
Any signs of life...

O, you who woke me, put me back to sleep!
Help me forget kisses, the smell of fruit,
Hands that see better than eyes!
I tried to fly, back to my own sleeping self-
But the weight of my tears kept me earth-bound:
I cried out, voiceless, to the numbing deafness of the night:
Wailing, in the dust upon the ground
Weeping for Tammuz.

(C) 2000 Lorelai Kude All Rights Reserved