Myth of Arrival

Ill fate or just unlucky or just the dead with all their tacky clothes and loud music? I was reading Anne Sexton today and found these lines in her poemThe Truth the Dead Know which seemed a rather lot when you get down to it what their their odd habits and bad odors and using their cellphones all the time to call who and whatnot:

And what of the dead? They lie without shoes
in the stone boats. They are more like stone
than the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse
to be blessed, throat, eye and knucklebone.

Why worry about the dead and their feet and their strange fruit foods? Blue plums and red cherries. Who worries about the dead's food when we spend 90% of our waking time worrying about the past? My past is very interesting too and they say worrying does not help but it does buzz and buzz in my ears all day long. Or perhaps it is desire? I have never conquered desire but I have conquered the need to have a past … perhaps …perhaps. Or at least the need to talk about it happy on the telephone.

For once I won't look back; tell you stories
about what the dead eat in the under
world, how the cold milk from Persephone's
breasts might have tasted had you been there. Were
my past a song of jade, I would forget
it. Like that. Instead, my friend, let me tell
you of the future. A real alphabet
secret, stone dream. I will meet you in hell
once the boat lands and take you by the hand.
There. Live on that knowledge; mix it with salt
and sweet honey. Friend, do not look behind.
You can't eat the past. Only the dead's bland
food can do that. Eat what's to come, colbalt
on the tongue. Eat its seed and its sour rind.

This entry was posted on Friday, January 12th, 2007 at 4:34 pm and is filed under Original Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.