Saturday, September 5, 2020

It Is the Rising That I Love by Linda Gregg

It Is the Rising That I Love


As long as I struggle to float above the ground

and fail, there is reason for this poetry.

On the stone back of the Ludovici throne, Venus

is rising from the water. Her face and arms

are raised, and two women trained in the ways

of the world help her rise, covering her

nakedness with a cloth at the same time.

If this continues, she, goddess of beauty

and love will have accomplished the earth

where I stand. She from water to land,

me from earth to air as if I had a soul.

It is the rising I love, in no matter what

element, to the one above. As I ascend, helped

by prayers and not by women, I say in all my

sexual glamor, see my body bathed in light and air.

See me rise like a flame, like the sun, moon,

stars, birds, wind. In light. In dark.

But I never achieve it. I get down on my knees

this grey April to see if open crocuses have a smell.

I must live in the suffering and desire of what

rises and falls. The terrible blind grinding

of gears against our bodies and lives.

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