Disciplines [This is how much fortuitiveness weighs]
This is how much fortuitiveness weighs. Measure in dirt. Of vices and other habits. Of leaving a house at 3 am and drawn as would any tether and here is your lock, my dear. I want to say this plainly: it is only when I am in a woman’s arms that my body is not a threat. Neither crosses nor damnation. Fix nor flutter. Hangs here, this balance, and one opens the car door and drives along the river where it said a crossing might happen. Had happened. Many times. Sticklers will say, not here. There are no crossings here. But, there the I is, reflection and delivered, on the other side. Like hams, I think,
holding on to what was.
Originally appeared in jubilat. Copyright © 2010 by Dawn Lundy Martin. Used by permission of the author.
Dawn Lundy Martin
Dawn Lundy Martin is the author of Good Stock Strange Blood (Coffee House Press, 2017).
Date Published: 2010-01-01
Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/disciplines-how-much-fortuitiveness-weighs