Letter to Kate
For William Blake
My Catherine Sophia,
as you would be known.
You were just Kate.
Child of Pity, full of mouth.
Widened but illiterate.
My ravishing apprentice,
who never refused me.
The first five years between us
may have been frightening, but
they were useful to you.
I turned you from a shaky
X
to a sturdy Mrs. William Blake.
Mrs. Catherine Sophia Blake.
My Katie Blake.
And your talented integers
covered with paint would
play like a girl on the
etchings of my heart.
No one would know,
you were my relief.
“Stay Kate! Keep just as you are –
I will draw your portrait –
for you have ever been an angel to me.”
Do not let those be the last words
I utter to you.
Let them be my first words to you.
“Do you pity me?-
Then I love you.”
Child of Pity, full of grief.
The five days after I had left you,
you stayed at my bedside,
doing what I asked of you.
Not as a pet-named lapdog,
But head resting on your hands,
head turned to the side
face slightly turned upward,
As I etched your portrait on the
sky of heaven.
And your mind filled it with color.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
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Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
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two squinting painted eyes looking solemn on a leathery face. this knight of the golden age has a 20 gallon bucket of a hat atop his slicked...
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to have sticky pins for fingertips and ballpoint pens for thumbs. then I could fascinate myself to you, and write away doldrums.
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July 7th the face of a rose deflates our windowsill- not much of a garden. July 8th after the party- a painting is crooked I think someone d...
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In my dreams I am the fictional version of myself. The one I seek to be in my short-stories and prose. The one who gets her point across but...
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July 9th i feel like running again. it's either that or swimming in a valley of tears. July 10th you couldn't tell by looking at us,...
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Tickling toes- there was something about that barefooted madness something about that wistful waist-high wishing and wooshing in the woods, ...
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My dearest Lavinia, for Emily Dickinson You, ever my confidante- I hoped that you might be available, fingers interlaced, with my boot step ...
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our silence comes easy and there is much to it the commingling of our fingers and the swapping of palm oils and the nimble saltation of ...
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RICK: Hey Rick? DICK: Yea, Dick? RICK: See that sky roll on by? (points) DICK: ...Oh, my... RICK: Don't i-t'almost makes yer wanner....
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Out the window, I thought I saw Emily pale, gawking. a green T-shirt. bouncing firey springs on her head.
don't be lonely!
ReplyDeleteand this really was a fabulous piece :))
lol. thank you.
ReplyDelete"My ravishing apprentice,
ReplyDeletewho never refused me."
I adore that bit.
As I etched your portrait on the sky of heaven, and Blake, too?? Very nicely done. I know you said you studied or rather have your degree in Literature, something I had only hoped to tackle in my dreams, but you have done it, and a success you are. Blessed to have known you for such a short time as a poet.
ReplyDeletethank you, yes I actually studied Blake closely for one of my classes, as he is a favorite of mine. I did a close study of his light and dark imagery in his chimney sweeper poems, and in his poem London. I really attempted to pick apart Blake's opinion of his own city, and his stance on the plight of the forgotten and neglected.
ReplyDeleteI had a ball doing it.
you humble me, I am always lamenting the fact that I do not yet have my MFA--which in my mind would be a ticket to writing full-time,
I guess having a B.A. is an accomplishment althought some academics would have you believe differently...