I understand territoriality.
The way a dog pees for marking.
The way your soul and mine circle
again and again. The way mortals
seemed to leave their scent feigning
immortality. The way, animal-like,
we’d like to enter into another.
The way I came into her way of
exceedingly practical. It’s her
shining. The way love clamored into
blood. Warm whiskey. The way, when
there’s no other way, to accept
blind, strange love.
Then will you, only then, ever
come out of hiding, if only not
being reviled, if only possible to
be led by a heart’s headlight we’d
sudden drive over winter’s fog,
stiff, unrepentant, momentary.
Prompt: Write a poem that’s a hide out. Or hiding something. Or having something come out of hiding. It’s Writers Digest Day 9 Prompt. What mysterious thing? I think the heart is one that hides a lot. Why is it not more straightforward? It’s like a true force of nature, the heart is. Again I’m reminded of the Catherine/Heathcliff love story. Only a character like Heathcliff would speak like this: “Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living. You said I killed you–haunt me then. The murdered do haunt their murderers. I believe–I know that ghosts have wandered the earth. Be with me always–take any form–drive me mad. Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! It is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!” What do you make of such passion? Could you let your poem come to terms with it somehow?
Include a line that you’re most afraid to say. That, serendipitously, is NaPoWriMo’s Day 9 Prompt.
Then of course, tie your poem to Red Wolf Journal’s theme: Song Of Myself.