Monday, May 20, 2013

There Are Two Thousand Nine Hundred Seventy-five Beautiful Women in New York City


There are two thousand, nine hundred seventy-five
Beautiful Women in New York City:
So far, I am only empowered to mention four names.
I think of them always, and hope that they are the Original Desert Mothers –
and if they are not, I will sing about them just the same.

 
Melania fills me with seas of desire, but not even one drop of longing:
She makes me shed tears I am too proud to wash from my face.
My eyes become prisms; my cheeks become stain glass windows from forehead to chin:
I am finally a history of mysteries delightful to trace.
Melania sits on a wrought iron bench near the colorful center of Dis,
And tells the same story in seven or eight different ways
Sooner or later the details congeal into something resembling a prayer,
And the prayer will be here on my breath as I face Judgment Day
Melania refuses to wear the same gown for two different daybreaks, and aches
For the laundress to catch on that each is a singular frock
She tells me this tragedy turns to a thing we will celebrate seven days hence,
She tells me that comics must do something other than mock.

There are two thousand nine hundred seventy five
Beautiful Women in New York City:
So far, I am only empowered to mention four names.
I think of them always, and hope that they are the Original Desert Mothers –
And if they are not, I will sing about them just the same.

 
Syncletica eats when she hungry, and knows that the world isn’t going to end
When her parents discover that she gave her heart to her soul.
My finest attire is tattered compared to the back of her elegant train.
No dish is as savory as gravy from her earthen bowl.
Syncletica scolds any girl who arrives from the front with a frown or a scowl:
If modesty doesn’t delight you, she says, you should flee.
She says that no means is an end, and she means it. She’ll say it again and again:
Authentic ascetics will get it eventually
Syncletica guides her lovely blind sister from gardens that smell of delight.
They’ve gathered no nosegays: they do not require perfume.
They remember aromas and moments whenever they feel they are straying from peace:
Remaining in grace, they upbraid the squat prophets of doom.


There are two thousand nine hundred seventy five
Beautiful Women in New York City:
So far, I am only empowered to mention four names.
I think of them always, and hope that they are the Original Desert Mothers –
And if they are not, I will sing about them just the same.

 
Theodora believes that compassion is meted to each one who needs it. And yet,
Her shame is a mane that she wears in the company of men.
She’ll tame any beast and she’ll soothe any sickness, but if a transgressor should press
For penance or sentence, she whispers, “Don’t do it again.”
Theodora adores every sister she has, but she lives with her brothers and sons:
She dreads that the bread in her belly will jell into bile
If the good wife who baked it turns out to be someone she wronged seven stories ago:
That why she conspires to expire on the shores of denial.
Theodora’s example is bitter to sample, but nourishes me nonetheless:
I long to belong to an order that knows me so well
That it gives me a mission with my full volition, labors with me until dusk,
Escorts me to shelter, and leaves me alone in my cell.

 
There are two thousand nine hundred seventy five
Beautiful Women in New York City:
So far, I am only empowered to mention four names.
I think of them always, and hope that they are the Original Desert Mothers –
And if they are not, I will sing about them just the same.

 
Olympia swims through the sea, and she strides through the sand, but she never drifts
Her fair-weather friends all pretend they’re afraid she may break
Until they require her mythical strength. Then, they land on her beautiful back,
With weight beyond weighing - and say that it’s all for her sake.
Olympia knows that endurance is all: she will not fall for tantrums or fits:
You conspire to make her perspire with your curses and threats,
But she saw you coming while you were still plotting and sniffing around Holy Ground:
And none such as you have been able to get to her yet.
Olympia does what she does, and she’s done as the talkers are coming to terms –
And she’s there to fill in when the pilgrims can vigil no more.
You can scuttle the shuttles and harry the ferrymen: she will be waiting for you
When you and your stowaway friends cannot swim anymore.

 
There are two thousand nine hundred seventy five
Beautiful Women in New York City:
So far, I am only empowered to mention four names.
I think of them always, and hope that they are the Original Desert Mothers –
And if they are not, I will sing about them just the same.

 

 

 
 

 

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