My attention span is as short as a post-covid intercourse
My longing impossibly spans over two chairs and I draw it out for as long as it takes to sum up the courage to caress her breast
I put my hand right there to stroke her thinning hair
I talk as endlessly as I babble relentlessly enduring the time I need to chastise my haste
I cannot stop to imbibe the blue of your eyes, then drown into your black infinity pool, c’est si cool
My looks are as prohibitively black as a rocking chair without a back
I would love to see my dad having to swing on his own wings
And my mom cuddled on his lap crying to have her son back
The warmth of a fireplace could not be colder as I get older
I swap the warmth of the hearth for the chill of the many ills as I give birth to my daughter
Her crib becomes my oasis, where my tears swell profusely only to dry out with the desert wind
I become stuck between the covers of more than two books, when all I wanted was to unhook
My eyes become the only testimony to my losing ground
On two feet, I hung myself up on this career, which I had entered out of fear
To be worthless without slaving away, as if my life depended on his ways
I wasted years in isolation to figure my net worth, which is more than the sum of my titles, the numbers of my books, the volume of my articles and the price of my poems.
PS: My price is my life and it is priceless.
My attention spans like the wings of hawk embracing the mountains and the river, the woods and the prairie, the yard and the wasteland, the lake and sea, it lifts my eyes to new heights, because it will set me free.
© Marion Panizzon