Kathleen Rooney & Elisa Gabbert
Where has summer gone so heartlessly?
I slept two sleeps, and in between
fierce winds and a wilderness of snow
there was an epiphany that didn’t stick,
though its beauty was ravishing.
What mystifies me is the way we
ignore the erotics of detail, the erotics.
I believe that our ancestors believed
they saw faces in everyday objects
like that burned tree that stares back.
I loved you when you were tiny, and I love you now,
but I’m an awful wretched bitch on no sleep
with psychosocial adjustment issues. My seams
are similar to your seams, but they’re not the same,
they’re not what they seem. The American dream
is going to get uglier before it gets better, so
let’s find a grave to dance on, and put on our bellicose
crepe-de-chine. Lingerie and good government
secrets are nice by candle light when the electricity
falters; our feline vision shines in darkest night.
There are no synonyms for flirting
and there’s no opposite of an affair,
unless you count marriage. Whatever
we did last night, I don’t remember
the unforgettable privilege of your
society upbringing, nights on horseback,
or mansions at twilight. I rely on virtue—
your virtue—to guide me. Please, please
say I’m more than your sexy decoy
toy. I want it to hurt when you leave.
About the Writers
Elisa Gabbert is the author of The Self Unstable (Black Ocean, Fall 2013) and The French Exit (Birds LLC, 2010). Her poetry, prose, and collaborations have appeared widely in publications such as Boston Review, Colorado Review, Conduit, Denver Quarterly, Pleaides, and elsewhere. She is a founding member of the Denver Poets' Theatre and blogs at http://thefrenchexit.
Together, they are the authors of That Tiny Insane Voluptuousness (Otoliths) and the chapbook The Kind of Beauty That Has Nowhere to Go (Hyacinth Girl, 2013).