The poems below were read by the authors at a Creative Conversation, “Between Psychoanalysis and Poetry,” at the 2009 Modern Language Association convention in Philadelphia [see page 12, “Widening the Scope: Landmark Alliance for APsaA”].
THE EXCHANGE
I am watching a woman swim below the surfaceOf the canal, her powerful body shimmering,Opalescent, her black hair waveringLike weeds. She does not need to breathe.She facesUpward, keeping abreast of our rented canoe.Sweet, thick, white, the blossoms of the locust treesCast their fragrance. A redwing blackbird fliesAcross the sluggish water. My children paddle.If I dive down, if she climbs into the boat,Wet, wordless, she will strangle my children And throw their limp bodies into the stream.Skin dripping, she will take my car, drive home.When my husband answers the doorbell and seesThis magnificent naked woman, bits of sunlightGlittering on her pubic fur, her muscularArm will surround his neck, once for each insultEndured. He will see the blackbird in her eye,Her drying mouth incapable of speech,And I, having exchanged with her, will swimAway, in the cool water, out of reach.
A WORLD WITHOUT SEASONS
In the greedy flim-flamFor two worldsWe have lost the one in hand.And now,Like the fish who chose to live on a tree,We writhe in foolish agony.Our Gods reduced to grotesque exhibits.Our poets mutePace in the empty halls of our conversation.The silk of our mother tongue banned from the fabric of our dreams.And now,We hum the national anthemBut our pockets do not jingle with the coins of patriotism.Barred from weddings and funeralsWe wear good clothes to no avail.Proudly we mispronounce our own names,And those of our monuments and our children.Forsaking the gray abodes and sunken graves of our ancestors,We have come to live inA world without seasons.
Editor's Note: The poetry column by Sheri Butler Hunt will resume in the next issue of TAP.