Claudia Keelan


 


To Adam
                          

I loved you
            You were an oboe
Singular and grave

The inside of my mouth
            Played you

We drove together
The earth was suffering

What was hurt wanted to shine
Sanctuary and true
Directly above the potholes

The truth is the pothole is a womb
And men are scraping there

Though you, my oboe,

Erase them

I loved you
            You were an oboe
Tiptoeing, careful and grave, inside

“They fix things for us,“ Ben says
Bareheaded men looking down
So many versions of men looking down

No mathematic

Speaking now
To the inside of my mouth:
Rest

Speaking now to the fictional real:
I believe in you
Sanctuary and true
Shining directly above the pothole
Down into the ruin where I find you

Driving, looking down

Though the ruin is not you
Curled, proud, your invisible shape, your effort

You curl there almost comfortably
Between so many men looking down

Are they here for you too?

Why else are they striking the ground?

Oboe?




© 2008 Electronic Poetry Review