I wonder sometimes
if I do not understand poetry
Pretty is better
than smart, I knew that as a girl,
but unwieldy, clumsy beauty is nirvana.
Do not give it to me with an open hand,
or even with the fingers curled;
nudge it with the small of your back, where
the gentleman touches in a dance.
Reading Plath by
the kitchen light,
my eyeballs could fall out.
My heart bursts not in
her words, but the whiteness of margins
That was a good time, when I
could put words together like balloons;
a mockery and threat of explosion.
I have donned the armor but nothing fits.
I will fall into the first stream I see,
damn it I wish that were so.
For I am so balanced on my horse
that I cannot grope the air.
I am such a knight, and half the world
is my blind, gallant dragon,
stumbling in my general direction.