Stars
An Acrostic Golden Shovel poem for Mary Oliver
by Candace Turner

Hear in my head, language keeps making its tiny noises
From the poem “Stars,” published in West Wind, 1996

Maybe it would be best if I couldn’t hear
All the chatter that bounces around in
Random fashion echoing regrets of my
Yearning, spiritual & physical, buried deep in my head.

Only the harsh reality of our disappointing language
Love & lust, notes both high and low keeps
Icy tones of our relationship at bay, making
Verbal communication an illusion of its
Erotic past, when our love was new & our fears were tiny.
Reality has transformed our pillow-talk to harsh noises.



 

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