- Shake the Dark Out
Underneath, there was an ancient musicI underestimated so you could be minus and postRomance in our soul of things trundling aroundOld truths but not believing. Luck-seeking,We pretended we were young, but we were onlyFreak-making love-taking strangersShining up our contemplations, building new homesProfoundly not our own. Alone, my trope, is thisLingering over your major promises in minor chords,Melodies short of lyrical. You are unlistening.I long for scenes more narrative, midnight less ravishing.Art and its companion-tale, your skin-sentencesShimmering and I, except you unravel me—Shake the dark out, and shake myself free. [End Page 159]
Diane Mehta’s new poems, essays, and articles are in the Literary Review, Subtropics, the Paris Review, the Believer, the New Republic, and the New York Times. She is writing a novel about a mixed-race couple in 1946–47 Bombay.