Jul 19, 2011

The Sirens

Written by Joshua Gottlieb-Miller

Read by Nicholas Claro

It’s been ten years
since I first read those ancient
books. Ten years pass
in this car, too, and another
ten in the walk past the cherry
blossoms murdering the yard.

It wasn’t your devotions
that kept me waiting
with the engine running. Listening

to The Iliad and then
The Odyssey. Letting the stick
shift sulk. Always a fight

with you before the long
drive home. It is early now,
and late too. Outside
the universe is made
of ache and almost

does not know to care
if I have wronged

you. Was it you
the sirens were
singing for?

The sirens unlocking
the door. The sirens waiting
to flick the light switch

with my thumb. And from
inside the room, inside
the dark inside the under
bloom, the house is still

taking dictation
from the rain.

I am already asleep,
I am asleep still, though
I pace and worry
the windows
from the blinds. Like you
I am lost
now that I have
nowhere left
to lose myself —

Clouds open doors, I do not drown
and you do not fall through rain clouds
to the earth.

At least we sleep
and purify ourselves
ten years more.

At most we kiss like anchors, drag
towards the bottom of the ocean floor.

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