I Curse

the candle I lit to pray for your life.  The plane.  The ghost of the pilot.  The air.  Anointing

 

the dying flame with the juice of the sourest lemon, I doubly curse

the boss who sent you to Beijing.  The TV camera

that captured my tears.  With my sharpest needle, stabbing

 

the anointed flame, I triply curse

the one who should have gone before you.  I beg, Please Lord, stop

         my empty heart.

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One thought on “I Curse

  1. That last line just brought the poem all the more home to me . . .please stop my empty heart.

    The candles have all
    gone out and my tears
    stopped flowing

    better to burn and
    pour out
    then to have my heart

    become an appliqué
    inside me.

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