Summer 1990

That summer I wore nail polish that was almost black
and twisted and turned in the puzzles of names
and sought order in woman's life and the idea of life
while the woman I loved most turned away in her dying.
That summer my protege left and I met with old friends
and found the oldest of them empty or evil.
That summer Mellors went back to France
and I didn't say goodbye or tell him I'd cared.
That summer a man fell so strangely in love
and I watched his writhing and felt nothing,
understood and didn't care
enough, though I myself have endured obsessions
as helpless and sad as his for me.
That summer I slept alone more
than I've slept alone since I've known you
and spent more sleepless nights than I've ever known,
though you held me and loved me deeper than ever.
That summer the betrayal of blood linked me with a family
I had thought half a world and a generation away.
That summer I dreamt the stones grouped together
and growled as I passed, and I shouted "no no" in my sleep
but the stones though I knew they could not destroy
followed me to the gate of waking.
That summer my companions were vampires from books,
especially LeStat, stalking the streets of New Orleans.
That summer someone dead kept whispering
"This is what you deserve - this pays you back
for pretending ignorance for so long,"
and I looked at the blurred photo of us -
with my back to him in his white gown
and begged - not forgiveness but peace -
and even in the photo he said: "Say goodbye
to whatever peace you desired. This
is what you deserve - it will kill you
but you'll know what it is like to feel.
That summer I wore blackberry lipstick
and my face was pale and I didn't dare hope
the summer would end without agony.

 

© Karen Alkalay-Gut