Classic Michael Appleby

11 Days until 10,000 Days.

Here's the poem that I performed this week at the Raving Poets show. It was written back in September of 2003. It's one of those poems that was written, performed maybe once or twice around the time of its construction and was kind of lost in the shuffle. It was nice to have a chance to dust it off for the RP audience since I had no need for their votes this week, having secured a spot in the six top vote-getters going into next week's big finale show. Enjoy.

italiana
she’s letting down her hair in dark curtains
a perfect contrast to the stark white of her skin
and the skinny skeleton she makes
becomes more woman
and she’s whispering to me
but i can’t make out what she’s saying
and that’s okay
because it’s a triumph of intimacy
over any need for coherence
the nape of her neck thrown behind a veil
the smell of her jasmine ripe on her wrist
telegraphs from rho in her hip pocket

and

i

don’t

even

speak

italian

the curl of her tongue as she’s mouthing the words
slowly deliberately

i

don’t

even

dare

to

speak

because i might miss the glisten
of the soft act
of wetting her lips
or a quick almost undetectable spasm
in the musculature above her right knee
the lazy preoccupied dangle of the tip of her foot
and the silent speculation of

wondering

if

she’s

as

nervous

as

i

am