lexington & 63rd | poem

It has been far too long and i've been focused on poetry these days, though have some articles cooking, but that said, thought i would share some new work. I realize this is quite long, but hopefully it will keep you reading though no obligation. More to follow in short order and many thanks to all who read all the way through. This one reads better out loud if i'm doing a reading, but since i can't be there, here it is on paper.

Thanks for tuning in,

sadi ranson-polizzotti

Lexington & 63rd

Walking beyond Lexington and 63rd
I realize this moment now
is really what it’s all about. Not some
dream of tomorrow or promise of what’s to come.
Forty years now and you’ve learned that promises
mean nothing. That love and love are in the doing.
In the give and the take, in the oui and the non,
in the push-pull tango, the dance between lovers,
The “go away closer” a game of which you’re tired.
The world has enough uncertainty. Just add water!
and Voila! You have more.
Years prior you were all about settling the score.
Now you realize the score means little
That perhaps its not even kept
That the nights of suicidal weeping,
of pill-popping – the yellow and the blues,
those heavenly pastels, so seductive and so mellow
relief in a bottle: it’s all so very Anne Sexton.
So Sylvia Plath. Isn’t it time you grew up?

Life is right here: on this church on Lex and 63rd.
The way the winter light hits the brick
and it glows warm – a winter peach light,
only here, only now, only in this moment
and god, you are here to witness.
So now you realize all along
you’ve been seeking absolution,
a balm to soothe prior pain,
some high and holy unction, the wafer
on the tongue that melts like a perfect kiss,
like that one right person, the once in a lifetime,
whose tongue you’d gladly suck because
although that may sound strange, one
is blessed to know such lust. No need to define.
The inner fetishist comes out. I’m all for that.
For tongue sucking, lip-licking, for long, slow licks
that make you scream on stolen afternoons
in which you sing a private aria and
wake up all the neighbors. Let everyone
wonder about this pale and quiet girl,
what happens behind closed doors stays
behind closed doors and a secret is a secret.
Never to be told and that is my final answer, yes.

Article Author: Sadi Ranson-Polizzotti

Sadi Ranson-Polizzotti is a published writer in both the United States and Europe. She is widely known for her music commentary, particularly her writings about Bob Dylan about whom she runs a highly-trafficked site. …

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