Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake
and dress them in warm clothes again.
How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running
until they forget that they are horses.
It’s not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere,
it’s more like a song on a policeman’s radio,
how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days
were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple
to slice into pieces.
Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it’s noon, that means
Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.
These, our bodies, possessed by light.
Tell me we’ll never get used to it.
Unfortunately I couldn’t get the amazing format of the poem 😦
Richard Siken is one of my favorite poets for the harsh beauty of his poems, the way their energy feels like sitting in a car going full-speed off a cliff.
Every poem has this feeling of impending doom and this desperate apocalyptic need, a certain recklessness and chaos. Simply put, his poems break my heart.
Tell me, the poet says, the lie I need to feel safe, and tell me in your own voice, so I believe you. One more tale to stay alive.
-Crush, Foreword by Louise Gluck