A friend said that I never talk about love and I'm too grim; just to prove she's wrong, I pulled out this poem, and the mask of Aphrodite, Greek goddess of love, born from the ocean. See (name with held to protect the innocent)? No crop circles, solar flares, or environmental degredation! Just the Great Goddess Aphrodite, trying to come to terms with post-modernism.
Aphrodite in Brooklyn
Please allow me to take off my shoes,
this faux marble pose
and this modern, pragmatic mask.
Permit me my ruin.
Please, let us not consider this therapy
or revolution, do not ask me
to give you space.
Let us not discuss those who came before,
or those who might follow. Let us not talk of past lives.
This moment,
this moment is all I know.
I have fallen on hard times.
If you come to my temple, just
let me make for you an ocean.
Half seen in the darkness
your body is a Mystery
true, tangible, radiant,
lined with the rings of your life.
You are beautiful,
beautiful to be a man.
Darling, even in this era,
even now, I will not believe
that love is disposable,
that sex is safe
that lovers are trains
rolling past each other
to some certain station:
I remember,
I almost remember
my river source
My skin forms the word anew,
yes
enter me
as if
you were coming home.
(1999)
