There are voices on the wind outside,
Calling to you in languages of origin,
Swept through antipodeal forests,
In sworls of atonal cries
It is not the muffled
from another room,
It is a distant relative twice removed
on a failing faint telephone line.
Or a woman that looks like your aunt,
Approaching you on the street for directions,
And you have to confess–
You’ve never learnt the mother tongue.
“An honourable human relationship—that is, one in which two people have the right to use the word “love”—is a process, delicate, violent, often terrifying to both persons involved, a process of refining the truths they can tell each other.
It is important to do this because it breaks down human self-delusion and isolation.
It is important to do this because in so doing we do justice to our own complexity.
It is important to do this because we can count on so few people to go that hard way with us.” – Adrienne Rich
Can one go rabid with repression?
To die alone, foaming at the mouth—
Electric in the brain,
Suppressing every wicked impulse,
Until they take up arms
and drag you writhing in agony—
When you would have given
The whole of your holy life,
For an unquiet night of passion.
The restless road
Sighs and turns over
In her sleep–
My only bed partner.
The rain taps an inquiry
Or invitation at the glass,
As I sigh back in the
Language of streets.
I can’t love and
I have no one else to tell
Save this sad shell
of our remains
where once my heart sang
And still the echo rang.