Ann Arbor Review
INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
WAY BACK WHEN
I remember when you were Marilyn Monroe
and I was John Wayne,
back in our glory days--
when everything still lies out ahead of us,
when avenues were crystal
and the sky was still this astonishing blue,
when we were young and callow
and so very proud of it,
back when there were long, tired days
out on the prairie,
golden waves that went sweeping up and over
the slope of all the tall hills,
when you were my true love:
in the snowstorm, all through the cold spring,
on days when the rivers froze all around us,
the waterfalls carving down into frozen curtains,
when we would go inside and warm our
tired bodies down in front of the fireplace,
that old flag waving out behind the house while
we made love,
and do you remember when the President was a god-damn
when America was the place to be?
but now a million drums callout up in the dark out on the dunes,
church bells as they go ringing out all across America...
everyone trying to sing just like they did (way back when) like
it was their wedding day,
just like we once did...back when you were Marilyn Monroe
and I was John Wayne.
THE NEW ESSENCE
And I held on to something strong as the bombs hit,
London disappearing, New York as she went falling,
one after another the cities dying while we all watch,
essence in the roots breaking, glass water lilies on fire,
no name for what this feels like (both yesterday and tomorrow),
her ghost at every doorknob, my soul around every corner.
I remember her voice at the edge of dark,
out across the fields--way out before the moon,
she said: be careful where you go!
all this chest deep in forgetfulness,
and you could hear the reeds and the tones
of gold in her voice,
her smile like drops of rain on a small child's face.
Jeanpaul Ferro, Providence, Rhode Island
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