Portia
Klara Pokrzywa
Portia this one's for you, always second or fourth or sixth in my heart. Choking breath. Portia I remember the two of
us playing house, me always the husband / yr hands round my waist so romantic i love you. I / you do. Portia it
really wasn’t you Because
when the Lord made me big boss man, big watch dog, I swaggered and sword fought I
looked at my companions, said now THIS is going great isn’t this just going great? I
was exceedingly happy I was
thrilled to report that I had pulled it off, whatever it was, whatever it was
that He wanted so badly, that I wanted too, without knowing it, so badly.
Portia it was me and then the Lord left me like I left you / Portia this will never reach you.
No one to explain what I did / how when I blinked my vision glitched and the Voices threw me into the spotlight / television.
When I say I was in the spotlight. Oh you know / Gloried and hero-worshipped.
Portia it is 4:53AM soon the sun will be up. Yes I left you standing in that garden it all happened exactly as you
remember it you standing there don’t laugh Portia what if our girlhood was as good as it gets.
Us playing outside smell of pines no lightbulb-glare
Still I would thrash my legs with the nettles / neighborhood kids: you oughta stay away from her.
As my eyes rolled up in my head.
Yes i always wanted to be looked at / yr hands eyes I am thinking
Back when I stood in the violent light of the Lord n felt like I was / floating —
now there’s
room for it.
your room as I remember it.
Your secret smile and sidelong coolness / i couldn’t keep up
Portia it was always me—
me seeking to be punished or forgiven
for a crime I had not yet committed
something I was, not something I had done
Now I’ve become the bad dog I never wanted to be. When He tossed the stick, I followed it. The thrill of running
after Him as I remember it. And how much
easier it all would have been if I had simply run the other way if
we were sitting in the field behind my house still sweet with sap
(and in this tableau i still have my cropped hair/trousers)
O you might call me father I you my missus.
Two of us two us flowers humming us two-gether
Only then eyes closed light changes I am hearing voices again but what if out there
Only what if
Wht if
Would you like to know what an angel is? A square
of pure light which is also an eye. I said why. A Voice said
I am a window and a screen also. I am / to somewhere else, step through me.
And O did I.
I think the phrase is forced perspective—madness in silence—
little girl Great and terrible things could come if you want them
And yes that is but half-truth / a love so massive it could eat you, a love
I have looked at side-long, flickering.
After that first time He spoke me laying stunned in the garden wait wait I am coming to I am coming too, chatter of
the neighbors next door
It was then I looked at you and knew O Portia I am a willing soldier
no turning away from the glare of God’s eye.
You: Joan you’re scaring me. Joan wake up. And me trying to tell you /
Portia I am now playing the Son. Portia you’re the lover I’m the fighter you
never forgave me never looked back
That last day before I left town / Joan you’re like scaring me
my head full of church bells and you in that pink dress—
What you never understood: as a child I was never not bleeding in my head. Portia listen—
Even with you in moments of idleness I imagined getting smashed against walls getting thrown to the floor. What
complete boredom that came from. Being beaten does not feel how I imagined it—
there is more pain, less impact, and how much you must want something,
to imagine it for yourself without even knowing what it is.
Because in the end imprisonment / just as endless as those stretches of girlhood
that dull reel of horror
Well no allies coming for me that much I know. Skinny boychild in her armor and pants. Always / wanting too much.
Mostly now I am waiting for anything to happen. I make my blinks long and slow like I am trying to earn the trust of
a cat. But I remember how it felt to bleed when I was a child, each tragick wound / it was the nettles in the end
Portia you were never lucky to be my friend.