This was composed at two o'clock this morning, after writing something else about families past that made me desperate enough to write an indefinite love poem (which is not directed to anyone, I promise, just a reaction). That needs severe editing, but it may crop up some time too. As I said, I'm just thrilled to be writing again.
indefinite love poem
I have been thinking, love, and come
To a conclusion: now I know
Why people ink their skin indelibly.
They are writing, with words inescapable,
What they most fear to forget:
Names and dates, their rebellion, freedom songs,
Reassurance of their own selves, now unquestionable,
Fixed to age away on their arms.
And sometimes I am afraid, too,
That I may forget
You, your name; my family forgets.
I watched my great-grandmother believe
She was sixteen, working in a sweatshop,
And she would beg my father to let her leave
And go back to Chicago after she finished this quilt.
She did not know her daughter's name. And I,
Who have not named you, but only watched
And loved you as I have watched the stars,
Will some day forget how you are called. I cannot
Remember Orion's track from night to night.
I cannot set you
On my arm, for you are a stranger,
But I have placed you here now. Perhaps,
In fifty years, when I recall your face
As it is this morning, I will remember
I have loved you. I have loved you.
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