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Sea, Sex and Survival
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Sea, Sex and Survival A FEATHER IN THE SCALES MY DARLING, the sea Is at rest, windless, A turquoise gem, a sparkling shield at dawn Today, outside our oceanfront cottage–– But let us not name it so––“oceanfront”– Too blunt, “cottage” no wattage; This winding path I tread, this Hillside next to shore Is so much more Than real estate: Come early, come late, It’s a balm for the soul, Albeit young, albeit old; Rather say our haven here, our Hide-away for many a year, where Hidden right in plain sight, I Waited, and hesitated To make things right. My darling, the sea is at rest In this our private place Where you, too, have rested, Now, for many a year, Doing as you please, Taking your ease. Believe me when I say I do not begrudge Any peace you may have found Over the years, or Right here, right now. Bare feet on stone steps, Quite cool to the touch, I Want to whisper that I still Love you very much. But is that true, my dear? How can it be? Honestly? For on this stunning day–– A day perhaps of gentle Breeze, or none, a Day of scorching heat, of Searing sun, I have come To hurt you more badly, It may be, than you have ever Been hurt before By my deceptions, by my lies: To wound you I have come Bearing truth that shines Forth brilliantly: a glorious sun To you unwelcome, perhaps an insult, My surprise; to me a precious Gift, a stunning pink sunrise. RED SKY IN MORNING, Sailor’s warning: A rule to live by, To keep one safe. But for you? Nothing foretold How I, once your love-slave, Would rebel and nothing tell, Of what here, today, you shall be Told. No sailing for you this Morning, no revitalizing swim. For on this day, I trust, you will stay In, and think upon the Fall, on original sin; No swimming in the calm first light, Darkness is best, dark glasses too, For I have come to execute you. Really? You gasp. Of course not! My Love, A little truth will never kill you. Will it? Ah… Then let me kill you quickly if I may. Let me Slay you and stop your heart’s Fearful beating, your mind’s dismay. KNOW THEN what from this day forth Shall be known of you, here in The village, and wherever we go; know That you shall be known As the woman who woke one Morning, years ago, safe in Her husband’s arms. Content, she Happily received his tender kiss, Accepted some coffee, and said How she would miss him While he shopped in town, How she would think of him Walking down and down The steep stone steps, Shoes dangling from shoelaces Tied together, flung around his neck. And how, later, burdened with bags of food, Of tasty treats for him, for her, Some wine perhaps, a bottle or two, He would suddenly reappear at the top of the steps, A little breathless, perhaps. How happily she would greet him then, Whatever the time: At the end of his strenuous climb! My darling, my beloved My faithful wife, That woman is you, Light of my life. That man was me And I climbed down The steep stone steps Into the sleepy town, But no shopping Would I do, not At first, for I must slake My terrible thirst. Do you remember The small, lively woman, Studying to be a veterinarian? Who worked at the store? Foreign born, from Malaysia? (You always said “from Madagascar.”) It was she who served me, early that Sunday, telling me in broken words, That our wine was ready, to carry up the hill, A birthday present for you, a celebration, Wine from the French nation Had arrived… if only I would follow Her into the pantry, (It sounded more like “Into my panty.”) And now can you guess What scene comes next? NOW I DON'T REALLY WANT TO TELL YOU; And after all, my love, my gazelle, This was no grand tragedy; just a Domestic drama, full of pratfalls: Call me the prat, if you like. (Whatever will you call me When I come home tonight?) , But even as I speak, I see you in my mind’s Eye, up and about, just a whisper Of a breeze billowing Your light summer dress, where I Confess, I’d kiss you now if I Were there, and stroke your back, Your lovely hair, and pull to Your waist the sheer white dress, where In a pocket you stashed my letter, The letter you have read. And now, no doubt, Wish one of us was dead. Oh my love, how I hate to give hurt. How much would I rather be right there beside you! Gaze into your mild eyes, guide and protect, Genuflect at your shrine, where I once worshiped A love divine, a goddess, a beauty, a creature Of sex, of laughter, one who mocked death. Of women, the very best. And yes, I had to Go and ruin it all, I the serpent in the garden, I Brought about the Fall. And up on the hill, as you touched your Lips to the rim of your cup, I KISSED THE MALAY GIRL on her full lips, on her neck and her small bony shoulders, and again on her lovely face. And as you brushed your hair, I ran my hands Through hers, its silkiness so unexpected: Something rare! Surpassing words. And as you sucked on a melon that I Had bought you, I–I was full of longing for The girl, and taking in my hands HER GENEROUS BREASTS, I KISSED THEM Everywhere, I whispered her name, I worshiped her body, My darling, even now I am not done With hurting you: the worst is yet to come, The worst for you, the best for me, Because, you see, while you awaited me In our hillside home, impatient, perhaps, of Being alone, perhaps even longing to have me Near, I had all but forgotten you–your world-weary Sighs–and grasping her hips, looking deeply into Her eternally kind eyes, there, there where I beheld her soul, She besought me, and our two souls were joined. And now my love you will ever be known As the woman who waited, unknowing, at home, While her husband held another’s round hips, AND THRUST HIS PENIS INTO HER. INTO THOSE OTHER LIPS, DEEPER AND DEEPER, AGAIN AND AGAIN, LOOKIG DEEPLY INTO HER EYES, POOLS PURE, ETERNAL. OF PARADISE So do you remember always that it went like this: the Soul-mating, the passion, the respect, my high regard for her, there in my tender kiss. FOR WHATEVER THEY MAY SAY ABOUT MORALITY, THESE WERE THE FACTS, THE REALITY And what, for you, may be<b> humiliation </font></b>In the eyes of the world, however one may deny it, Will bring to me great admiration, for this display, as it were, of my sexual prowess; so unfair, While the two women get the blame and the shame; I win the fame, as gossips perpetuate my name, Telling and retelling my story as a titillating anecdote Of covert reproductive success, Ah, darling, I am sorry, for your sweet sake, that the survival game is brutal indeed, That my last, best chance to plant my seed, my chance, which I did plan, I calculated disregarding your tender love for me: your jealousy, your insecurity, indeed your fragility. –Oh, if only I could go back in time– NO, DARLING, I WOULDN'T GIVE UP THE SEXUAL UNION, THE DEEP PLEASURE, THE JOY, THAT BROUGHT MY INTO THE WORLD– yes even in spite of the love I bore you–and bear you still–dear girl. But if I could go back, and do one small thing, to make redress, I would warn you to love me a little less. I should have done so. But no– I was too hungry for success. Deeply sorry I am that I did not come to you When you waited for me by the hearth. But joyful and proud and certain I remain Of the rightness of my ’s birth. FOR THIS IS WHAT WE HUMANS ARE: FOOD COMES FIRST, THEN SEX FOR SURVIVAL And in this survival game We all have a rival. In the scales I placed one unbearably light feather. In the balance I placed this one tiny birth Against all the times they tried to wipe My tribe, my family, from the face of the Earth. As Janis says, WHAT'S LOVE GOT TO DO WITH IT? When from birth to senility, All we are all really doing, is Searching for stability.  |
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