by Paula Bonnell

Poem sequence from Message (1999)

iv

The sun of your expectations rose on a female form

and at noon curved over it, missing the point.

It shone on a luminous body

of smooth-skinned verse and you copied, copied,

till you were melodious with seductive charm

and we joined the perpetual ceremony.

I am not dead set against all that,

but in eclipse I found what storms suggest:

that the center is dark, dark and unexplained,

and full, full of more than children.

Taste with me more than milk and formula —

suck the difficult juice of the pomegranate,

enter the stony passage, tell the truth.

Be more than artful — I am more than a muse.

vii

It was a practical suggestion she made

not to look back. Your broad back

plugged the passage, kept it dark.

As we kept going, I felt changes.

My hands were heavy, sharp, wet.

One leg dragged, my back bent.

It got harder to sing, I could only breathe;

I followed your melody in the dark.

You turned and the light leaked past your shoulders

I saw what was the matter —

My left hand was a dish, my fingers were needles,

I was sopping and rusting, whirring and clicking.

I can't be a machine — I'll have to go back —

Orpheus, goodbye.