Ghazal
Beneath her slip,
the slip of her.
Iron. Lust.
The flint of her.
In dorms and parks, motels
and tents: the din of her.
What I would not have done
for another sip of her.
She swore she'd never love another.
The fib of her.
She kicked off the sheets; I held on,
breathless, through the fit of her.
Good or evil, she was first.
The rib of her.
That she could leave me after all
that I had been to her.
Hands pressed deep
into my mouth. The bit of her.
A lengthy, doe-eyed nuzzle
at the salt lick of her.
Cock sure,
the spit of her.
A week spent curled up on the floor,
gutted, sick for her.
Nights she ground my bones
to dust. The grit of her.
Teeth, nails, my name
whispered low. The grip of her.
*
Hello Friends —
When asked to name a single very favorite poem in the whole wide world, I often
answer with today's poem, "Ghazal" by Emily Moore, which appeared in The Yale Review, vol. 90, no. 1 (January 2002).
To learn more about the ancient Persian poetic form of the ghazal and its
various rules and restraints, click here — and, if you really want to get into the nitty-gritty, also click here.
April is National Poetry Month, and I am celebrating by emailing out my own
eclectic selection of one poem per day for the duration of the month. If you
wish to be unsubscribed from this Poem-a-Day email list at any time, please
reply to this email with a friendly unsubscribe request (preferably in heroic
couplet form). You may also request to add a consenting friend to the list, or
even nominate a poem.
To learn more about National Poetry Month, or to subscribe to a more
official-like Poem-a-Day list, visit www.poets.org.
Enjoy.
Ellen
P.S. Many thanks to Rick Barot for introducing me to this poem (among others).
Labels: NPM, Rick Barot