What do they expect? // Marge Piercy

[iatrogenicmyth.livejournal.com]

What traces have I left
on all the bodies I have held?
Do they remember my mouth?
Let them forget.

Some come like cats howling
in the night for sex withheld.
Some have gone from my mind.
Their scent has drifted off.

Some I remember with anger
but that too runs down the drain.
Maybe the sink is still dirty.
Maybe the water is clean.

I dream of none of them.
I dream of my mother and cats.
I dream of danger and hunger.
I dream my dying.

What prints do we leave
on old lovers?  Do they wash
off or wear down?  Sometimes
they turn up expecting

that I will still be the girl
they bedded, maybe they still
see her smooth and willing.
They find only me

like a old oak rooted deep,
like a cat who has learned
where to find her food
and where she will only starve.

Sunday 13 May

[rose0mary.livejournal.com]

Dusty old helmet, rusty old gun,
They sit in the corner and wait --
Two souvenirs of the Second World War
That have withstood the time and the hate.

Many times I've wanted to ask them --
and now that we're here all alone,
Relics all three of a long ago war --
Where has freedom gone?

Mute witness to a time of much trouble,
Where kill or be killed was the law --
Were these implements used with high honor?
What was the glory they saw?

Freedom flies in your heart like an eagle.
Let it soar with the winds high above
Among the spirits of soldiers now sleeping,
Guard it with care and with love.

I salute my old friends in the corner.
I agree with all they have said --
I agree if the moment of truth comes tomorrow,
I'll be free, or By God, I'll be dead!

   Audie Murphy