On the 13th day,
I recognized the feeling
of you in my body linked
to those boyfriends of my lovely
high school and college past
who I had but did not have,
that I yearned for because
there was a bittersweet beauty Continue reading “Note To . . .”
Tag: love
If I Return To You
If I return to you, I will remember
my life before the mountain and fall,
The house I left to enter,
And the strength of your call.
If I return to you, I will linger
to smooth down your wings
With the tips of my fingers,
Until we touch the morning. Continue reading “If I Return To You”
The First Exhibit
I have completed my first exhibit in the museum. It is called Marginalia—and it was inspired by Billy Collins’ poem of the same name and made possible by a 1928 textbook called Selections from English Literature. This textbook, which I bought in a Salvation Army in Bartlesville, around 1998, is littered with marginalia written by its owner, one Irene Chaffee. Continue reading “The First Exhibit”
Morgana’s Instructions
You don’t need to love the old man.
Just move his boots out of the way
so neither of you trip over them.
Ask the cook to send the boy out
to find the leeks he likes the best.
Move the curtain on the bed a few
inches to one side, clip it there.
Turn away when he coughs
and the sputum slips out his mouth. Continue reading “Morgana’s Instructions”
Story Old as Time
Lancelot
The apple trees are pregnant with misted fruit,
dangling like the locket holding your hair,
which I keep in memory of that pursuit,
lost in a love, without I cannot bear.
I have walked across the fields to find you.
I have shuttered my heart to the world’s gaze,
made ready the clasp for you to undo,
made still my heart that is yearning to blaze.
Where are those who still demand this is wrong?
Who see only betrayal, not love’s proof?
I contain operas, not just one song.
Love does not abide by a single truth.
Yes, I am joined to him and know my vows,
and I will love you as long as flesh allows.
Guenevere
–Shaun Perkins
The Return: Psyche & Eros
When I return to you, I will remember
My life before the mountain. I will soak
The western wind, the dark musky nights,
The fall, the trials, and those who played
A part all together in the river
Behind our house where I spent
Those days you were not real to me.
I will never pull them out,
Never clip them to a line to dry,
Never fold and put them away. Continue reading “The Return: Psyche & Eros”
Rural Oklahoma Museum of Poetry 