Poems

Your Father didn’t have no heart!
 When he lost his wife
  His heart became a knife
   It cut a hole in his chest
    ’til the day that he died.

Your mother, oh she of great works,
 has a sword for a spine
  She cuts through obsta­cles
   with power and pre­ci­sion
Never let it be said that she
 lacks the power of decision

So you’re the son 
 of a knife and a sword
  Of course you’re a critic
   With that honed an edge
    What else comes forward?

As for love in your life
 Of course you’re done sooner
  A knife and a sword
   Cut through the half-​​empty glass
    Before a woman can say
     ‘Go to hell’
      and knock you on your ass.

Or you’ll say no first –
 A pre-​​emptive strike
  and end up with a life
   that you didn’t like.

Time to beat your swords into plow­shares
 And put down your gun
  What prize of the heart
   Has your crit­i­cism won?

The safest place for your heart
 in all this?
  Could you be redeemed
   By a woman’s kiss?

A kiss that saves worlds
 and lights up the sky
  That bathes your heart
   in soft tunes
    ’til you stop ask­ing why

She won’t call at your door
 or beckon your call
  You won’t find her at all
   ’til you stop look­ing
    or take a class in French cooking

Somewhere, there’s strength in your heart
 That keeps seek­ing
  What gives time mean­ing
As life keeps glean­ing
 These moments of love
  of insight and lust
   ’til it’s ashes to ashes
    and dust to dust.

© Denise Schultz 2009 

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