April 2018
Carole Stone
stonec@mail.montclair.edu
 
Celebrated
 
  
What would it be like
to be the celebrated poet,
pacing before the audience,
ranting against hierarchy,
gulping water from a pitcher,
spitting and screaming against extremism,
grimacing and interrupting himself,
foaming against the Right Wing?
 
What would it be like
to be ferociously pursued by women,
and face twisting, jaw working,
to always be in love?
To sing a little tune, dance a few steps
before each poem, one hand raised,
waving, each simple gesture
a celebration and a mourning?
 
What would it be like
after the reading, shaken by euphoria,
to autograph each book,
“Much love and Devotion.”
What happens alone in a borrowed apartment?
Telephone calls to a childhood friend
in Chicago, an ex-lover in Charlottesville,
a ninety-year old mother in Miami?
 
Is there Thai takeout?
Do the hours drag?
Does the doorbell ring?
Is there regret in the middle of the night
thinking of the divorces,
the years of wandering,
the neglected students,
the blue dust covering the velour sofa?
©2018 Carole Stone
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