Rita Dove
TO THE CONTINENT
TO THE CONTINENT
1803
When I was a child, I was content
to fit the notes to the joy I felt;
chords unfurled shimmering ribbons
I twirled myself in, as if into a chrysalis.
Then I wanted love, whole sheets of it
to wrap myself warm for sleeping.
Less spontaneous, I performed vigorously;
the world was not as large as the sound
I sent to it. More admiration, fetes.
Women began sampling, nibbles & slurps;
I played to keep the noise going,
to fill me up. But now I want only
to find love that resists, notes that will not fit;
I want to be appalled & staggered
in equal measures, I want blood
& blood’s aftermath ––
weariness & affliction, sans mercy.