Conquered by the Lion

We met beside the clearest stream.

You were watching the fishes swim.

I watched you, watching them.

Your eyes sparkled quietly.

I stepped carefully over the stones,

So not to disturb you, there alone,

With your dreams, and wishes, and fishes.

But, your mind drew me.

A fullness of your heart’s overflow

Babbled out to my empty wastes.

I longed for acceptance from a deep place,

And your self-actualized, eminent peace,

Drew me to a state of sweet release—

Every grudge, devaluation, let loose like the pebbles

We dropped in the clean, deep pools.

We were so young,

Only fourteen years old,

But braved the summers’ heat,

The bitter colds of northern Italy

To be together, to face the wilds,

To educate ourselves,

For the schools would not have

A poor girl like me, or, an “illegitimate” child,

Like you.

I had barely an original thought,

But you, I followed, and loved, and fought

Myself deeply over your initiatives:

Your drawings, your missives,

Written out in that dyslexic code—

The fascinating quality of your reproductions!

The pressing pushes, the tensing suctions

Of grasshopper legs, or slimy black leaches!

Sometimes those eyes would turn on me.

Mine turned, too, and would try to flee

To avoid that intense gaze.

Lazer-like,

It cut me right in two,

With one finger tracing me,

And later you drew

Secret sketches of my nude body.

My heart, speechless, barely pulsed.

I posed, still-life,

Frozen, convulsed,

At the brave inquiries of your driven hand.

Then stayed, like a fawn, put, by its mother,

Even after you’d turned to stare

Deeply into another land,

Drawing a stamen, or a bee.

One day we stumbled upon a dank cave,

Spelunked for hours, finding bones from a grave,

And you put them into a line.

You penned your ideas,

And then chased me back to the light.

But the dampness seemed to stay inside.

I couldn’t shake the consumptive tide,

And finally,

I gave up the lie and died.

But, I see you now.

You’ve taken my body back there,

And I see how

You’ve placed me on the flat stone.

You’ve stripped the grave clothes.

You stand back, and those eyes haunt my cadaver.

I see the shine of a silver scalpel

Cutting me right in two.

Pulling back layer, after tender layer,

You examine, trace, and note each node,

And record my biographical anatomy in mirror code.

And now you’ve cut to the deepest part!

I’d always saved it for your sweet heart!

There! A living ring of love lay hidden

To be thrilled by you alone.

Bidden to come,

But, I couldn’t shake home

Out of my sleepy eyes.

But, I see you now.

That certain style

You have when you comprehend

Some unthinkable, unsearchable mystery—

You smile

That Mona Lisa smile,

Five hundred years before history

Will ever have a clue.

But, your mind drew me.

-jenn long