I Abandon you Each Night
You abandon your waking
hours,
in soft squares, you try to neglect
your worries and shut down
the war-voices, one on each shoulder:
and—if it is important
to you—you sigh awfully and listen,
or you ignore and try to avoid
like poison gas
because this is a solo performance
that only you can sing despite the
urging of others to couple and adore
and procreate. March. And—as if and as if—
It were different.
Oh Man, I abandon you each night.
My heart ache, my fears, my love,
my softness. It is as if I roll over.
It as if I roll over and touch nothing.
✶✶✶✶
Millicent Borges Accardi, a Portuguese-American writer, is the author of two poetry books, most recently Only More So (Salmon Poetry). Her awards include fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts, Fulbright, CantoMundo, Creative Capacity, the California Arts Council, The Corporation of Yaddo, Fundação Luso-Americana, and Barbara Deming Foundation. She lives in Topanga (canyon). Other ACM works: “Dispatch from a Pandemic: Topanga, California.”
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