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Mars Teases Jupiter and Flirts with Venus
We were having milk with the cookies you baked,
and sitting on your porch on a rainy Sunday.
I was laughing at the banana-strawberry strands
caught in your lashes as the wind blew toward us,
and you scolded me with a spatula in your hand.
You never took me seriously until the next moment,
when I stood up on tip-toes and brushed the hairs
from your beautiful moonpie face that blushes
when I flash my breasts at strangers who peep
inside your open bedroom picture window.
But it wasn’t what I did, but what I said
that erected your monument of my love:
“You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted to slap
and kiss for not seeing how much
I adored your vain denial of the obvious.”
© 2007 The Surreal Estate of Danna Marrón Williams
I am such an idiot for writing this- but bearing my soul sets me free to write about all the things I’ve been afraid to write about all these years. And who hasn’t been an idiot for love? Playing the buffoon to the leading man can be liberating, and I was never going to be his leading lady.
This has been an exercise or exorcism of ghosts of the past. Or both.