1173. On Reading A Biography Of George Washington - Eloise Klein Healy

There is no cherry tree.

There is mud and blood and winter.

There are letters and orders to his farm manager

written by candle light detailing chores to do.

There are letters written to his British broker

complaining about low prices for his corn.

There is nothing lofty written about democracy

but there is something about the country

he surveyed beyond the mountains.

There is nothing about democracy yet

but he is tired of being told what

he can and cannot do.

Tired. Of a King.

Of being told what he can

and cannot do in his country.

There is a letter in which he orders

a uniform he designed himself.

It does not fit very well

because he does not know his size.

He wears it anyway.

Democracy.

Design and redesign and self-design.

Democracy.

Something lofty was written

in mud and blood and winters.

Democracy.

1172. Like This - Mewling Jalaluddin Rumi

Translated by Coleman Barks with John Moyne

If anyone asks you

how the perfect satisfaction

of all our sexual wanting

will look, lift your face

and say,

   Like this.

When someone mentions the gracefulness

of the night sky, climb up on the roof

and dance and say,

   Like this.

If anyone wants to know what "spirit" is,

or what "God’s fragrance" means,

lean your head toward him or her.

Keep your face there close.

   Like this.

When someone quotes the old poetic image

about clouds gradually uncovering the moon,

slowly loosen knot by knot the strings

of your robe.

   Like this.

If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead,

don’t try to explain the miracle.

Kiss me on the lips.

   Like this.

When someone asks what it means

to "die for love,

  Point here.

If someone asks how tall I am, frown

and measure with your fingers the space

between the creases on your forehead.

   This tall.

The soul sometimes leaves the body, then returns.

When someone doesn’t believe that,

walk back into my house.

   Like this.

When lovers moan,

they’re telling our story.

   Like this.

I am a sky where spirits live.

Stare into this deepening blue,

while the breeze says a secret.

   Like this.

When someone asks what there is to do,

light the candle in his hand.

   Like this.

How did Joseph’s scent come to Jacob?

   Huuuuu. 

How did Jacob’s sight return?

   Huuuu.

A little wind cleans the eyes.

   Like this.

When Shams comes back from Tabriz,

he’ll put just his head around the edge

of the door to surprise us

Like this.

(Huuuuu means breath out)

1171. Georgia O'Keeffe - A Calling - Maxine Kuman

Over my desk Georgia O’Keeffe says

I have no theories to offer and then

takes refuge in the disembodied

third person singular: One works

I suppose because it is the most

interesting thing one knows to do.

O Georgia! Sashaying between

first base and shortstop as it were

drawing up a list of all the things

one imagines one has to do…

You get the garden planted. You

take the dog to the vet. You

certainly have to do the shopping.

Syntax, like sex is intimate.

One doesn’t lightly leap from person

to person. The painting, you said,

is like a thread that runes

through all the reasons for all the other

things that make one’s life.

O awkward invisible third person.

come out, stand up, be heard!

Poetry is like farming. It’s

a calling, it needs constancy,

the deep woods drumming of the grouse,

and long life, like Georgia’s who

is talking to one, talking to me,

talking to you.

1170. Do Not Fall In Love With People Like Me - Caitlyn Siehl

Do not fall in love with people like me.

People like me will love you so hard

that you turn into stone,

into a statue where people come to marvel at how long

it must have taken to carve that faraway look into your eves.

Do not fall in love with people like me.

We will take you to museums and monuments 

and kiss you in every beautiful place

so that you can never go back to them

without tasting us like blood in your mouth.

Do not come any closer.

People like me are bombs.

When out time is up, we will splatter loss all over your walls

in angry colors that make you wish your doorway

never learned our name.

Do not fall in love with people like me.

With the lonely ones.

We will make you think that hurricanes are gentle,

that pain is a gift.

You will get lost in the desperation, in the longing

for something that is always reaching,

but never able to hold.

Do not fall in love with people like me.

We will destroy your apartment.

We will throw apologies at you that shatter on the floor

and cut your feet.

We will never learn how to be soft.

We will leave.

We always do.