Dark Corners...For Audre Lorde
Through the brightness of black bows
by r james sterzinger
Through the avenues of bright flowers
Through alleys of garbage day trash cans
I walked my dog through the late night.
Lately, I go through places and neighborhoods
I shouldn't go through late at night
They run kitty- corner to where I use to walk
Well lit areas where inspiration for good poems came.
Now I prefer dark corners, places I cannot see
Places, dark as pitch and sticky with inspirations
Alleys with shot out street lamps
Pop can broken beer bottles
That may or may not shine in the moon light
That may or may not reflect the stars.
Except for one Keatsian poem and another by Frost
I no longer request the stars
I no longer wish for other night lights for companionship
I prefer the dark corners of alleys and the edges
Of streets. Like the hems of a witches black gown
Or the robes of the reaper who will soon
Catch up with me and my days.
Someday all that will be left of me
Will be left over poems that no one will read
And all the dark corners I walk down now
Comfortably holding me in the are of my deepest of sleeps
Waiting for a resurrection that may take forever to come.
When that resurrection comes
I won't need those dark corners anymore
I will let them go
Then my eyes adjust to the light
With all the others waiting with me side by side
With any luck it will seem like a day.