Naomi Replansky c. 1940s

  

The Journey Here

One night when it was midnight in the bed
I turned my head and said:

This red thread of error looped around my wrist
Leads far away,
I cannot now untwist
Myself antagonist
From childhood stampings, from streets fierce in play.

I stumbled through the thicket of the law,
I wrestled, losing, with a man of straw,
I reared at shadows and I walked on cloud.
And from the fugitive I took
The many-colored cloak
And wore it somberly, as though a shroud.
I loved when sure of loss
Then stood and cursed my loss
And swore myself star-crossed.
And though I found a word, though at my breast
I warmed a word, I still was like the bird
That broods the offspring of another's nest.

I was, I did, but I will let it be.
Tonight I must hold dear
Whatever brought me here.
These days of mine that ran in anarchy
From this rare midnight seem
Single with purpose, seem
The slow unfolding of a single theme
That led
Most gently to this midnight and this bed.

©1945 Naomi Replansky