Rebekka by Milo

[Leanne]

You can replace my coffee cup;
the chinked and scarred
and weather-stained
remnant of our breakfast table;
the last of solitude.

You can have Matthias kiss
my savior's blackened lips;
the sweet black of Christ's
dead lips or have him take
my heavy seat; the collaborator.

And I will not betray you;
-and the unsaid accusation
echoes back at me-
though you would throw
our doors open, welcome soldiers
in to boot-scar stairs and pull
the walnut bureau drawers;
rummage through our things
-upturn the nothingness
of photographs and
letters, underwear; cascade
our unlived lives onto the floor-
though you would rend your shirt
at the breast, offer up your secrets
at the breast; the collaborator.

And I will not betray you;
though you whisper a tormented
past across my unworn threshold,
though you carry plastic shopping
bags that tear with the weight
of abandoned clothing from
the quiet huddle of families hidden
in the root cellars or abandoned churches;
temples, though you double up
with train-worn luggage; baggage,
and someone else's baby's shoes.

And I will not tuck my hands
under your shirt and grope
about your breasts to find
a sack of silver or palm
about your pockets when
you find my lips in front of strangers.


*The original thread and comments can be found here

[Brownlie]

You can replace my coffee cup;
the chinked and scarred
and weather-stained
remnant of our breakfast table;
the last of solitude.

You can have Matthias kiss
my savior's blackened lips;
the sweet black of Christ's
dead lips or have him take
my heavy seat; the collaborator.

And I will not betray you;
-and the unsaid accusation
echoes back at me-
though you would throw
our doors open, welcome soldiers
in to boot-scar stairs and pull
the walnut bureau drawers;
rummage through our things
-upturn the nothingness
of photographs and
letters, underwear; cascade
our unlived lives onto the floor-
though you would rend your shirt
at the breast, offer up your secrets
at the breast; the collaborator.

And I will not betray you;
though you whisper a tormented
past across my unworn threshold,
though you carry plastic shopping
bags that tear with the weight
of abandoned clothing from
the quiet huddle of families hidden
in the root cellars or abandoned churches;
temples, though you double up
with train-worn luggage; baggage,
and someone else's baby's shoes.

And I will not tuck my hands
under your shirt and grope
about your breasts to find
a sack of silver or palm
about your pockets when
you find my lips in front of strangers.


*The original thread and comments can be found here

I love the shopping bags I can really imagine that.

[serge gurkski]

"And I will not tuck my hands <<< (And)
under your shirt and grope
about your breasts to find
a sack of silver or palm
about your pockets when
you find my lips in front of strangers.

Beautiful!

[milo]

oh dear.

[billy]

i remember the feedback i left with this one. and in my defence i don't have one

well done milo. the poem deserves to be chosen

[serge gurkski]

Oh, that was by Milo. Did not see that. Sorry.

[Keith]

Well done Milo, this is one I read over and over with google in my hand and it is one I will continue to read. Leanne has an ear for these things.

[tectak]

You can replace my coffee cup;
the chinked and scarred
and weather-stained
remnant of our breakfast table;
the last of solitude.

You can have Matthias kiss
my savior's blackened lips;
the sweet black of Christ's
dead lips or have him take
my heavy seat; the collaborator.

And I will not betray you;
-and the unsaid accusation
echoes back at me-
though you would throw
our doors open, welcome soldiers
in to boot-scar stairs and pull
the walnut bureau drawers;
rummage through our things
-upturn the nothingness
of photographs and
letters, underwear; cascade
our unlived lives onto the floor-
though you would rend your shirt
at the breast, offer up your secrets
at the breast; the collaborator.

And I will not betray you;
though you whisper a tormented
past across my unworn threshold,
though you carry plastic shopping
bags that tear with the weight
of abandoned clothing from
the quiet huddle of families hidden
in the root cellars or abandoned churches;
temples, though you double up
with train-worn luggage; baggage,
and someone else's baby's shoes.

And I will not tuck my hands
under your shirt and grope
about your breasts to find
a sack of silver or palm
about your pockets when
you find my lips in front of strangers.


*The original thread and comments can be found here

Only a matter of time,milo. Inevitable with work of this standard. Good judge,leanne.
Well deserved,milo
Best,
tectak

[newsclippings]

I didn't comment on this? Shame on me.
This***

though you carry plastic shopping
bags that tear with the weight
of abandoned clothing from
the quiet huddle of families hidden
in the root cellars or abandoned churches;

is beautiful.

[ChristopherSea]

My comments on this keep vaporizing or perhaps they remain in the original thread. Again, I just want to acknowledge this superior effort and its selection for spotlighting, amazing piece Milo!