Excision and coercion -

Lauren watches my lips as we eat;
she has told me
that they are treacherously lovely
for a brother to own.

I have written to her on thick red paper,
sinking the letters beneath some skin,
forcing myself not to say things;
neglecting to define.
I know that they are difficult to read.
I have to turn on lights to find myself
behind the lectures and the thoughts.

In a lecture on development I saw her nursery.
She slept beneath the gaze of pandas,
who, pieced by color and two feet high,
crawled through painted bamboo,
cloning around her crib.
I memorized her name,
made it a child's mantra,
when crossing the street to see her for the first time.
I did not want to age and then forget;
I knew that I would say it
often in my life.

Lauren.

Now see her in red sheaths,
pressed against young men,
leaning on their egos and their fear.
I have the sense of empty nurseries,
of crawling, crying pandas,
of someone wearing lipstick,
and her stride approaching mine.
Against the brush of ink and postal time
I want to say,
"Lauren, I never told you





GLS
3/12/91