Fascicle of Amity: 12

O Hell, mine eyes converge
with sweet Heaven in its sag
of faith, of surrender.

Who does not live
within a homemade book
carnally?  Did you ask?

Nancy Miller points
to my Cathleen swinging
the bat at a softball,

I say, that’s not Cathleen,
it’s Norma Jean,
who will never die, not here.

In the age of daguerreotypes
run amok, you see a photo
of Marilyn; no silk screen.

What would you have said,
sincere recluse, of a woman
down on her luck?

Create the ingredients
of a new fascicle
where she’s defeated, dead?

If life itself were not dying,
ice under unexpected snow,
I would be here with you

in my bed, as you are
with Cathleen. Be here,
keep me here,

where breath comes
where love arrives,
meaning to stay.

In hellfire we disappear
where you can’t write
mind is body . . .

(3 February 2014)

copyright 2014 by Floyce Alexander