I was forged by desire, hot, molten, flaming that lovers stoked at their own risk. They melted into me. I was hammered by love, reduced by its aftermath. My leaden feet lifted by force of will, I learned to dance with monkeys and their crosses and that weight on my back. What else could we … Continue reading “Steel”
I was forged by desire,
hot, molten, flaming
that lovers stoked
at their own risk.
They melted into me.
I was hammered
by love, reduced
by its aftermath.
My leaden feet lifted
by force of will,
I learned to dance
with monkeys
and their crosses
and that weight
on my back.
What else could we do?
When nothing ever happened
on time, when doors slammed
with us behind them,
when we witnessed
everything
but saw nothing,
when we prayed for help,
and were left to ourselves?
Weren’t we all steeled
by love, etched on singular
faces, long after the bodies
have gone to dust?
What wouldn’t we try
to be so warm
again, to strike
over and over,
casting our mistakes
without regret?
key words: Janice Lynch Schuster, poetry
Author: Janice
A creative. Lifelong Marylander. After many odd jobs of adolescence and college, have always worked as a writer and published essays, op-eds, articles, and poetry in national news media and small presses. Collection of poetry, "Saturday at the Gym", about boxing, aging, and motherhood; collection of artwork and poetry, "What Are Mothers For?" On the verge of an empty nest for the first time in 30 years, my question is: What am I for?
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