Today's poem is by Michelle Boisseau
Sun Surveys Other Cynosures
I was all hot for honors, money, marriage, and You
made mock of my hotness.
St. Augustine, Confessions
A cosmopolitan stuck in the sticks,
far from the worst, and farther from the great,
I'm like the Sears of spacea middle-aged
star of medium brilliance near the edge
of a third-tier galaxy, constant solace
for this ragtag crew of sequins that cling
to my bright hem ("bright" relatively).
Alone = All One. So these dimwits
made me their Ra, Ra God, Sol, single-most
source of their metaphorstheir girlfriend's eyes,
their hero's gold shield, their cloudy explosions.
Them - me = desolation.
From my semi-splendid isolation
I glare at inner-galaxy big shots glittering
among themselves, too grandiose to notice
me, singing solitary rounds of "O
sole mio" solely for my benefit.
Giant stars are too distant for my wit.
Copyright © 2004 Michelle Boisseau All rights reserved
from Trembling Air
University of Arkansas Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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