When the next world comes
What They Promise
will not leave your name in a book
left open to a sky. Will not bring
shadows beneath trees closer when
the sun fails. Will not turn an ocean
beneath your untidable tears. Will
not speak for you when the next world
comes too late. Cruel this, yes, but I
will not save you from a gentle truth.
Make yourself stand in rain. Let cold
and wet have their way and do not
seek familiar shelters. Let skin rise
above porous bone; feel your hair
matte against your nape. In this way
you will have all anyone can promise.
Keep this against times when no tongue
may tell you otherwise. This is heaven.
Joseph Gallo
October 13, 2009
post-time 11:55 PM
2 Comments:
I like where you break the lines; it lends a sort of breeze-y, hush-hush, secretive-wind-oracle touch to the poem. Like the sharing of a lesson millenia old.
Cheers.
I could not have said this any better than you just did. I had no idea it did that. I'll trust and defer to your expert judgment on this matter, Ms. Corsua. ;-)
Thanks for your kind comments. And readers---please click on her name & bloglink to read her terrific poetry from the Philippines. She will mood-entrance you all the way from Manila. :-)
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