Poetry

   There’s a swift shift of the sheets on the bed in the other room

There’s been a heavy allquiet allnight in the other room

There’re footsteps right away nothing more

There’re footsteps walking out of the room

Then you’re in the shower

You’re taller then water

I want to see you there

I hear the splash, Where? It’s all over your body, the water, isn’t it?

Then your head moves slowly back, your face comes face to face with the showerhead eyes closed hot water hot on your face

What about your hands? Do they keep busy on your body? With water? With soap?

I can see you stripped of the shirts and the pants covering you all the time when I want to look       You’re covered with soap, shampoo on the hair, water, I see the red facecloth somedays, wet, I don’t know how you wash it all off, how you turn to adjust under the hot pouring hot, how you rub your five fingers on the neck, back, chest, thighs, legs

Do you bend, ever, to wash your foot?

You throw the hair back, you must, you comb it all back, hair doesn’t stay put, you shake your head to adjust the strands, I’ve seen the comb, do you close your eyes under the water? Do you know how beautiful you look?

When you’re not high, you’re high on yourself, you know how beautiful you

look

You let water kiss you and run, she loves you, you know that, you know

how

beautiful

And you stay there for ever

I waited the first day for ever to look when you walk out of the shower,

Why?

This chocking wanting feeling wishing touching your body is deafening is so loud

This is your ritual you hug hot water everyday for so long everyday why?

There is the knife, and then the cutting board every every morning

You’re standing at the counter, facing the trees in the courtyard,

You are taller then the trees

There is the meat, sliced, lettuce, torn to pieces, cheese cut and laid, mustard, lots of it, and bread

And bread to hold it all together

You are facing the sun, not looking at it, I am looking at the back of your head at your hair up there, and down to the ground where you are standing  

I look up

This is your ritual, you create four pieces of art on four slices of bread, such precision, so beautiful, so much love, I’ve noticed

the stream of kindness you have for everything,

everything;

the menace, you save for me and other intruders   

This is the ritual everyday I look keep looking till you turn back and I turn around to look at the wall or something out there

I am not looking at you it’s crazy

How can I be not looking at you? It’s crazy

Have you been looking at You lately?

Then it’s gone

It’s all gone for a whole day

Do you know how long a day is nowadays?

it’s a whole day every single day

You’re gone

And I don’t know where to look at

I look at things         things here and there

You walk in when it’s all dark

You don’t eat

Or eat, and I don’t know what

You sit in that other room

You sit here where I am sitting you say something I say something it’s crazy I feel dumb you feel disturbed why are you disturbed? Why don’t you ask?

I am the Prometheus my heart pulled out over and over right out of my heart

I haven’t offered no fire to Men, so, why?   

You hug your guitar

You say you’re off for your nightly ritual

I sit there sit there

Do I need another glass of vodka? Do I need another glass? Do I need to know what is it you’re playing? I open my eyes, it’s still your guitar, why you sound like wailing, like a wounded sHe?  

Still you’re playing the guitar

You’re bent on the damn thing      you’re gorgeous     now you’re playing the drum      now it’s the guitar        I open my eyes      it’s the guitar      now you’re singing with that abused beat-up buttered scratched sweetly dipped in honey voice 

crazy       you stand up     you say something like: ok, I’m -----     

I know that

but you say something else too while staring you say something I don’t know  I don’t get it       words leave my lips chopped to bits I can’t breathe    this choking wanting to follow when we’re going up the stairs leaving me there on the sofa for a minute a minute a minute a minute only

for only a minute I can’t exhale I am shocked

I am chocking with wanting to know you’re gone to bed       

You’re taller then the night

Am I walking in to your bedroom?

What if I walk in to your bed?

What if I love you sweetly, slowly, fast as I wish?

This breathing gritting of teeth swallowing hard beating of the heart in the head is the ritual

It is my ritual

See you tomorrow

Have a good night

The Ritual

Nov. 2005

Owen Sound

Saghi Ghahraman