Michael R. Burch’s poems, translations, essays, articles and letters have appeared in publications such as TIME, USA Today, Writer’s Digest, BBC Radio 3 and hundreds of literary journals and websites. His poetry has been translated into nine languages and set to music by composers Alexander Comitas and Seth Wright. He also edits www.thehypertexts.com
Roses for a Lover, Idealized
Roses for a Lover, Idealized
When you have become to me
as roses bloom, in memory,
exquisite, each sharp thorn forgot,
will I recall—yours made me bleed?
When winter makes me think of you—
whorls petrified in frozen dew,
bright promises blithe spring forsook,
will I recall your words—barbed, cruel?
For All That I Remembered
For all that I remembered, I forgot
her name, her face, the reason that we loved ...
and yet I hold her close within my thought:
I feel the burnished weight of auburn hair
that fell across her face, the apricot
clean scent of her shampoo, the way she
glowed
so palely in the moonlight, angel-wan.
The memory of her gathers like a flood
and bears me to that night, that only night,
when she and I were one, and if I could ...
I’d reach to her this time and, smiling, brush
the hair out of her eyes, and hold intact
each feature, each impression. Love is such
a threadbare sort of magic, it is gone
before we recognize it. I would crush
my lips to hers to hold their memory,
if not more tightly, less elusively.
The Effects of Memory
A black ringlet curls to lie
at the nape of her neck,
glistening with sweat
in the evaporate moonlight ...
This is what I remember
now that I cannot forget.
And
tonight,
if I have forgotten her name,
I remember ...
rigid wire and white lace
half-impressed in her flesh,
our soft cries, like regret
... the enameled white clips
of her bra strap
still inscribe dimpled marks
that my kisses erase ...
now that I have forgotten her face.
Poetry
Poetry, I found you
where at last they chained and bound you;
where at last they chained and bound you;
with devices all around you
to torture and confound you,
to torture and confound you,
I found you—shivering, bare.
They had shorn your raven hair
and taken both your eyes
and taken both your eyes
which, once cerulean as dawn’s
skies,
had leapt with the sun to wild surmise
had leapt with the sun to wild surmise
of what was waiting there.
Your back was bent with untold
care;
there savage brands had left cruel scars
there savage brands had left cruel scars
as though the wounds of
countless wars;
your bones were broken with the force
your bones were broken with the force
with which they’d lashed your
flesh so fair.
You once were loveliest of
all.
So many nights you held in thrall
So many nights you held in thrall
a scrawny lad who heard your
call
from where dawn’s milling showers fall—
from where dawn’s milling showers fall—
pale meteors through sapphire
air.
I learned the eagerness of
youth
to temper for a lover’s touch;
to temper for a lover’s touch;
I felt you, tremulant, reprove
each time I fumbled over-much.
each time I fumbled over-much.
Your merest word became my
prayer.
You took me gently by the hand
and led my steps from child to man;
and led my steps from child to man;
now I look back, remember
when—
you shone, and cannot understand
you shone, and cannot understand
why now, tonight, you bear
their brand.
*
I will take and cradle you in
my arms,
remindful of the gentle charms
remindful of the gentle charms
you showed me once, of yore;
and I will lead you from your
cell tonight—
back into that incandescent light
back into that incandescent light
which flows out of the core
of a sun whose robes you wore.
of a sun whose robes you wore.
And I will wash your feet with
tears
for all those blissful years . . .
for all those blissful years . . .
my love, whom I adore.
[Published by The Lyric]
