Tonight's Poet Corner: Angels
Angels by Belinda Roddie Funny, how all the women I've loved have contained an 'a' within their name: Mostly at the beginning, shouldering the burden, but others elsewhere, and while it may seem simply facetious to see coincidence in the mouth of language - or commonality, truly, given vowels' investment in our kisses - I can tell, while counting its teeth, how much the faces still shine in the enamel of my memory: My first crush, paralyzed like an insect in a tree's tears; my college infatuation, sharing a namesake with sweet, falsehood-hating, suicidal Karenina; my own wife, the forest residing in a French utopia - and lately, the abbreviation of an angel, brown curls and a crafty smile, trading words like hot coals during a rainy Manhattan late afternoon. Funny, that; funny, life, and funny, names and nomers on the fingerprints of strangers and lost loves - or the "illusion" of love, or the "delusion" of it(?) -