Please! Sit Empty, 2006
There’s a house
just on the edge of town–
it’s green.
There’s a house on the edge of town
red roof and light green.
It’s the ground floor bedroom. I’m wearing white,
and he’s moving into me slowly
in a circle–like Italy.
He pushes and moves.
He’s in my dream–it’s summer
I can smell the grass growing.
It’s green.
I’m taking him whole.
Groaning low
He left his ranch,
moved here where he should be.
No developments, no bands needed. The marsh
keeps us safe. The horse whinnies. We twist with the breeze,
and moan with the steer. He moves beneath me.
We’re shifting slowly on plain, white cotton sheets.
I didn’t buy them, he did. I don’t have to carry it anymore.
Slowly with this one,
wait for me.
His sweat is trickling, right there.
You know. The lower back with that hair.
You’re mind is twisting around—this one again.
I said I wanted to be worshiped;
when I went back–back to town.
I pulled up on my red bike, pulled off my helmet
and sighed. It had been a long ride
back here. Please let me be free.
He’s older now but just as beautiful as ever.
Mean. I breathe in with a new whisk and smell the lakes
all around. You live with small lakes, I live with the seas.
Six seas, all around. They keep the weather tame. And the green
house sits empty for now. Remember our desire, swirling in-between?
You step out of the house, not spectacular at all. And smile at my bike–
it was the Mercedes all along. Buy that convertible in gold, not red anymore.
Buy me that house, let me push but don’t wince, growing bigger
and please, let me walk barefoot to work for now.
You would give me your room, with a corner into pines. The cats
would remember where the voles still live. We would walk at night out to the garden–
but this one plants everywhere. The small trees sit and
wait for you. And there’s a lot of rocks to burn
Push me down again now.
The lake has frogs singing again. Do you think I can break free?
Can I wear white in this life with you? Will I not stain?
Can I cook for your boys, will your children just laugh? Will
they be glad to see? Can I dream of freedom and wonder,
where will you go–no more forwardness for me?
Will you wait as we turn—will you dream of my lord?
Can I ride my bike up and laugh at you still? Will you let me
sleep in your room or will you push it? Do you know
where I live—decades after you? Do you know where I live
with a brush filled with glue?
I look at your work and wonder where our daughter is—is she off to school—traveling?
Did we send her out east for free? Did we raise a conservative,
politeness with thee?
Will you wait for me–when will I go? Out of nowhere I said
that I didn’t know how long this workman’s house will hover
over a covered stream. Is that okay, will you wait?
In my dream, you stretch over me and I can smell you—drying. And I think of
Jane. I think of her freedom. But will just enough poverty
make me run. Wait—just wait for me. Please!
© 2010 by Felice Tebbe. All rights reserved.