He jumped her on a dark street; grabbed her throat.
She stared him down and sat him down to talk
About his ex-wife and lost job. Her coat
Was thin – the night was cold. She made him walk

hours in the rain. Persuaded him to go
turn himself in. Then drank herself to sleep.
In movies, she’d make stuff up you would know
was better than the script. You’d laugh and weep.

When I was sick, she told me ‘You can’t die’
turned up and shouted at me; she had just
Bought tickets for Bruce Springsteen, and so I
had to get well. She sometimes made you trust

that she knew stuff you didn’t, that she had
the lightning sudden wisdom of the mad.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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  1. crowleycrow says:

    Beautiful. These are almost always charming; this is more. Do you like Landor? This has a similar marmoreal quality.

    • rozkaveney says:

      I don’t know Landor all that well except for ‘Dirce’.

      Oh gather round ye Stygian set
      With Dirce in one bark conveyed
      Lest Charon seeing should forget
      That he is old and she a shade.

      Orwell said it was almost worth being dead to have something like that written about you…Which seems to me something worth aiming at in memorial poetry.

  2. ffutures says:

    Lovely. I’m sorry I haven’t commented on many of these, life has been messing me about a bit and I’ve been skimming through LJ fairly fast.

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