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theoharides

Halie Theoharides
Two Poems

Is it okay to live together before marriage

When I first met you, you looked busy. You were. You had several things on your
mind. You were trying to finish a French paper and you were trying to eat three
tranquilizers. You had broken up with your boyfriend on New Year’s, or actually,
you were still together, but things had gotten to a point where you spent most
nights alone, absent-minded and mean. Like I said at an earlier date, if you aren’t
careful—if you keep eating those tranquilizers—something terrible and strong
beyond your understanding will run away with your face. I’m not sure what
happened to you in that time you were away. And to be honest, this is out of my
hands. I only want to slink into your bed at night and put pennies over your eyes
and say something holy and old and folded into a small triangle with both our
names on the outside. I was always told, don’t be afraid of firefighters. Besides
their outfits they are just trying to help. Same as the way I feel about you. But I’ve
found the list of things you want to do together (“February 18th: Hang our photos
at the site of the future accident. February 20th: I’m driving”). I don’t believe
you’ve got any good intentions, and to go further with that, I don’t believe you’ve
ever had a friend. And yet. I’m by the old cabin for the sugaring off. I’m by the old
lakehouse convincing the geese. Sometimes a sea gull wasting its time.
Sometimes a coyote dragging a housecat. Unlucky for some. And yet, I’ve been
ready to turn snow-colored and forget myself.



LAKEHOUSE WHORE

I HAVE LOCKED MYSELF UP IN A WOODSHED
YOU ARE BLONDISH AND FAIR IN THE CRINKLE WINDOW
I SEE YOU WHEN I LIGHT THIS CANDLE STUB
DAYS IN TO MAY, ONLY DAYS NOW
BUT I REMEMBER YOU WHEN YOU WERE A CHEMISTRY TEACHER
WITH A LITTLE BOX OF EXPLOSIVES

     
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