What Might be Found
Descartes proved the mind is separate from the body
the body may have no limbs, no breasts, no freckles,
and we are still living
You leave this morning, thank me for the night
and the morning shower.
I yell to you about my dog,
you dress like your father.
Your face is no less my face,
than our own faces.
What puts you to sleep each night
after counting sheep has been so used
and overeaten that its now
abused a little girl hidden.
People say soul mate/soulmate,
like they are interchangeable
in keeping these two words/worlds apart
Tonight, I learn that mirrors draw light from every direction,
that the Chinese fear love,
I learn the longest word for happiness
in between p. 40 and 41 of a Mark Cox anthology.
I am only 30,
I feel young.
The air and water move with the seasons
but the fish don’t swim as twins.
The questions I’ve asked Jeeves
are in vain.
My mother fell off a horse at age 47
and had five steel rods inserted in her face
but she never quit jumping.
There are atheists who capitalize the G in god
and botox lovers with no face.
These are fallacies.
Mares don’t stay in packs for love,
I see a Flying V above my head,
you pointed out one afternoon
You left a shirt with Uncle Sam
and the word Brooklyn on the floor.
You left two yellow ribbons and a
water bottle full of raw eggs.
I haven’t heard from you
since St. Patty’s day,
since you played Gathering Dust on the piano,
since I shaved my legs with a bowl of water and two switchblades.
I am not sad.
You thought I was not enough,
the seven moles, an upside down V
on my left cheek,
it bothered you.
You were naked.
I washed a bowl full of stuffing
and threw out a loaf of moldy bread.
We were in Mexico.
I spoke too much of my mother,
She was dying.
In the end, there was a note from God
about poetry, about life,
about what philosophers have not yet proven.
He ends with the word sleep,
and it’s signed in your name.
Tonight is the first time in months I feel truly happy.
- © Lara Ann Frazier