Bobbi Lurie


Two Poems



The more I walk through these streets, the more certain I become I’m the only one who can save myself.

we emptied our pockets onto the table.

everything was language.


*


I wave good-bye to myself on the runway, get into the narrow plane, crouch down like my very own grandmother, sit on my seat like fate.

One day later dinner arrives. Cappelini Shmappelini and a bottle of red wine, green lipped mussels and picadillo pasta.

But the true meaning of the meal was to learn he never ate a vegetable until he met me. And he was 47 then.

Our problem was with celery. He detected it on me whenever we met. I had to forget celery. And there were other things as well. The onions had to be fried just right. The coffee had to taste like coffee.

And at night he’d try to know me like language.

He wanted to be a narrative poem.

He said all poems were narrative.but I was quiet.

I became an experiment with language, an accident of grammar.

There were words I couldn’t say. Like who I was and what I never wrote about and why I wouldn’t like to say it now.

The whole thing was strange.

He was like a thesaurus I never opened.



Bobbi Lurie: "language left me completely for several months. this made talking to myself very difficult. and yet i did not get away from her (((from me))))))))))))((((so (((you)))say))))))
(so you say)))))))))"
 
 
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