Poems
Alicia Jo Rabins
I’m embarrassed by my love for You
and by the ugly cries
that escape me at night Worry birds
circling overhead, looking for You.
Summer's almost over, but
the tree’s single bud
has not opened. I'm hung backwards
over a railing, Your upside-down city
winks in the distance. Each morning,
a new brown snarl
of hair & animal teeth on the pillow,
waiting to be untangled.
Summer's almost over, but
the tree’s single bud
has not opened.
I put it in a box with the stones
we found on the beach.
Won't You come back to me
and make these mysteries holy again.
BOOK OF HOURS
O Lord, the praise on my tongue
has turned to fear.
I used to think everything I needed
lay just beneath someone's clothes.
Now we lie beside each other
each with our songs of alarm
and worry.
Can't the scientists
make a vaccination
for this kind of loneliness.
Can't the monks
teach us
to build a teak sailboat
out of all this broken wood.
Can't the street vendor
sell us back
the salty hot pretzel
of love.