Sylvie Hill

Urge and Ways

Last night, I kissed you fierce
from behind a door there you were
hiding for years in a dream
about me rallying folks to New York
and where the sidewalk in creamed white
like snow and water blended into a stream.
They shouted “It’s the Pacific Ocean, lady,”
And watch your step
I was forever again lost again in a city
like before.
And at the bar a Russian kid distracted me
so as I turned around his dad emptied my wallet
and thinner on the bar of it, I said:
“Give it me back at this moment”
and the Russian gave it me back
and he and son left through the door.
But I kissed you hard about five kisses more
and I missed that ball cap, almond eyes slope
and our last, lost score.
By Christ, I had rules for Frisco
and you could have bent them maybe lightly.
And we always talked for so long on email
every day and afternoon about all sorts of things
that made my brainy self emerge
I knew you were educated
A plain jane you’d marry with more character
than my rockstar posturing.
My, how I treated you poor!
Making you talk like that jackass on his island.
By goddess, I was usurped by a power
that landed absolutely everything on its ass.
By goblin, was a tragedy to wade in such shallow
coastal flows hanging on to when tides recede
to get a glimpse of it in imprint if he succeeded
but he dare not step foot here over here no
and whether he tells the story in song
one day or never, it can’t be wrong.
For it is when it is and it will always come round
how we torture ourselves with memories
of the stories that in dead render the life of it
so deep, meaningful, and profound.
For if we failed to sink in slow
and consider it treasure in some deep-sea trove
Might we have to accept it was trite and cheap
and were pirated cruelly?
Or ourselves pirated and looted
all for the other’s
and our very own urge and ways
too loosely and haphazardly?

Sylvie 2018