If
I & You —> We
Corvine, we are going where
sweet-bruised oranges, saplings.
Not, Corvine, these words:
marmalade, peel cake, crepes.
Darling, we must not now turn
facing backs to windows.
Forget never let us: pigeons
same paths flying blind over, over;
let us hope: two pigeons might,
convention gone, turn left—
fly west. Corvine: whenever that,
then say other-than-I-or-you.
Us never let forget brush
path-trampled long since,
what first remarked we tasting
oranges field-fallen: wild, wild
What I Promised
In a cafe at lunch
I set down my coffee spoon
and whispered I am afraid of you
leaving me, forgetting our mornings
in a silent kitchen staring together
out a window while in the toaster
bread blackens and burns.
You were glancing at a slinky dress,
a pair of tan legs and didn't hear.
And when I swore If you cheat on me
again, I will— the waiter passed by,
poured ice water into your glass;
you looked up, thanked him,
wiped a spill from the table,
heard only But if you love me,
I will go with you to Lake Como in fall,
stand on the hills in mist and fog,
wait with you for spring to search us out.
Copyright © 2004 Sarah Miller