SistineI was moving from crisis to crisis
all through my life, with a few calm days
between them like a caress or a charm
descending unexpected from above.
Up there, god’s hand was pointing toward Adam
when it could be turning toward the Sybil.
Who cared for love when there was wisdom?
All that stuff in my satchel full of scrolls—
a chrysanthemum or a chrysalid,
for crying out loud, wasn’t that enough.
Crystallizing the future as an eye,
lifting up the future as an eyelid,
always gazing with a critical eye.
But how sad not to have loved the Sun God
when he might have given me all I wished.
What was so bad about a night of sex?
Here I was, hanging shriveled in my cage,
saying I want to die—want to be dead.
Oh cry sister—or else just suck it up—
or spend some time with Savonarola.
Maybe it was just those sulfuric fumes
rising from deep in the Stygian swamp
that caused my sad moment of misjudgment.
When all the while a mere stanza or two
might have saved the day, saying I love you
—eternities ago—or maybe not.
Or was there still time for some kiss-and-tell,
or some scissoring schism of the heart.
Come down to Cumae and open my cage.
Sad! I had forever but not a kiss.
Sarah Arvio***************
RL
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