Thursday, February 23, 2017

1972: A painting from, a story of




























Our Lady of the Tender Mercies
Watercolor 12 x 16
1972-73

Love Flight 1972

She looked me directly in the eyes
Sharply folding clothes with military edges
“You don’t love me anymore,”
Her eyes bowed back to the laundry
I fled out the door
Heart and head burning
Into the chill of Charles Street
knowing refusing she was right

Running from this laundromat
Past the very Florist that beaconed me
To this city, striking my soul
Like a bow from Cupid’s arrow

But today, this Valentine’s day
Memory running flaming cold
in this city I love
Angry at truth and derision
of socially prescribed desire
The romance of child/teenage fluff
Slapped by the angry mother
Across my rude mouth

A week later, in our hotel room
In Manhattan, making violent love
The evil desire to smother
Strangle the breath from her
flee into dark Gotham
From there across the land
Of desperadoes and bonnies and clydes
Disguised from all I knew and who
Running far, from our desire
To be who and what we were not
Running from the sin of being ourselves

Le bohéme n’ était plus
Zoltan and Meg play no more

one last glittering fling
in the Appleland of Oz
Singings song of Weill’s broadway
and the pillared halls of Art
Kissing the lips of Nefertiti
Hiding in the forest as Joan spoke with angels
Howling with the horse in Guernica
Rubes in the big city
Rubes in the rules of love

Back home too the rules had changed
The homogeneous neighborhood
Blackened overnight, 
torched businesses
after harmonous decades
bullets through the window
Our landlord asking us to leave
For the safety of their home
Their black and our white asses
Boston bussing madness, catholic
ugly as baptist blood flood our southern roots
the liberal north a lie
on my freedom trail

The ideal of romance
Safe haven
Dashed in the light of day
We said goodbye with sorrows
That had no central home
Sorrows that float
a lifetime
For the prize of seeing me
running from her
running from me to me
not who I pretended to be

Our love incinerated, leaving
the stripe of sorrow,
on the gravestone of romance
thank you for finding me

Remembering 1972
on
Valentine’s Day 2017