Two Poems

Dorothea Lasky

I don’t write poems while traveling

I don’t write poems while traveling

So I don’t want to travel anymore

I don’t write poems with eyes on me

So I don’t want eyes on me anymore

You hurt me

I don’t want to hurt anymore

You/me

That’s what this is about

That’s what it’s always been about

Dear Love

I’ve been traveling

And traveling

To be with you

It’s always been about

The poem you are

The number 10?

No, not the number 10

Green opaline dinosaurs in jelly sauce

No, no, I don’t like food

Time and memory

No, I hate those things

Space and the way the earth moves

The sun, new advancements in geology

Astrophysics, planes’ time

My mind melting in a pyre

Yes it was about all those things

And the green green grass

Yes it was always about that, too

Sorry for all of them

I feel sorry for all of them

The blank eyes

The oxygen

That breathes me and you

And eats the air

Do you think of what is

Not air

Is it flesh, or not

And what about the children of the morning

Do they die before they are grown up

What is grown into

When we do die

I wanted to be something that was expected

But death is not an expectation

There is an air that is lost or thought of

There is not an air that is thought of

But what is

In the blankness that is not lost

I lost many things

In this life

I even lost air

But I did not lose you, dear love

Of my life

And when I did not lose you

I had faith again in everything