Gretchen Tessmer is currently preparing for the bar exam.
The Proposition
He said, “Let us go then, you and I”
and I said, “No, I don’t think so.”
Another time, another place, when this
yellow haze breaks,
when lightning strikes! Burns fast
like a wicker basket, then yes…
but not now, this is no indecision.
I’ve made up my mind and I
don’t dare. I don’t dare disturb this universe.
I’ve been told there’s time and I can…
Wait. Why do you stare? And lean against the picket fence
shaking your head, tracing the face of an unmarked peach.
I’m tragically young, dear, and live up on the hill
by violet bellflowers and half-opened day lilies.
You wander the valley, the shadow of death
lengthens, crawls in on a dew-soaked fog.
Weather-beaten, his hands tremble, he can’t hear me
but pity wears thin as a poor man’s dress coat
and affected, I succumb.
I’ll play your game, and choose Ishmael as
my champion. Araby, my object of devotion.
The dead speak no regret. Only the living
linger before the gate crying, “Keep us out!”
Or wander a shoreline and think they’re drowning.
