- Celibacy 1, and: Celibacy 2
Unmarried, the heart ejaculates what it must, scarlet-purled, arterial,
away, away. Or conversely, married, it requires all—venous, freighted with wastes.
Here the analogy breaks down. On the radio, I learn the Brits
are into all things Scandinavian. Sun-lit schools, bare breasts, the aurora borealis.
A “scandy trance.” Maybe. Ice is a mystery of whatever blue enchantment swiped
my view this morning. This is no allegory. I’m north of myself these days
with a fist full of silver keys I lose every night in my dreams. [End Page 106]
Nervous, twigs split, become swallows, jeté the platinum poring chits
over horizon’s bistered tinge. Is a murderer secreted in us all,
a person we once knew, even embraced in a photograph
without premonition? No way this season knows it is ending.
Instead of “murderer,” let’s say “orphan.” You’re leaving, you say? Either way,
what to do from now to then, when language means to stay? [End Page 107]
Lisa Russ Spaar’s poetry collections include Vanitas, Rough (Persea, 2012) and Satin Cash (Persea, 2008). Her essay collection is The Hide-and-Seek Muse: Annotations of Contemporary Poetry (Drunken Boat, 2013). Her awards include a Guggenheim Fellowship, a Rona Jaffe Award, an Outstanding Faculty Award from the State Council of Higher Education for Virginia, and the Library of Virginia Award for Poetry. She teaches at the University of Virginia.