The Möbius Strip of Grief
Dreamed between 2004-2008 by Ruth Stone
When I went into the room where you waited,
you said you were not staying here with me. Angry, I went back to get an ice pick where a large block of ice lay on the stairs. It froze my fingers when I tried to lift it. I am not a murderer, even in the brilliance of sleep where poems are three-dimensional. How often you come this way in your cold contempt for my ignorance. |
EDITOR'S NOTE
As the title warns, this isn't quite what it seems. He'd already left her--by suicide. Her grief is rage, her rage is grief. The two sides are one, as on a Moebius strip.
--Chris Wayan
Source: What Love Comes To: New & Selected Poems, by Ruth Stone, 2008, as reprinted in The Essential Ruth Stone edited by Bianca Stone, 2020.
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