Maria Thompson Corley
One of our Readers from the Saturday Night ALL KINDS OF CRAZY LOVE - POEMS ON LOVE shared these poem of hers. Thank you for your gift, Maria.
Malcolm
Malcolm is mysterious.
Autism does that
when the “cures” don't work.
He talks
to himself
a lot,
to me,
only occasionally.
He answers
where, what, when,
not why or how.
His smile,
luminous;
his laugh,
irresistible;
reasons for his hilarity
(in bed each night
or randomly, inappropriately)
obscure:
“What's so funny, Malcolm?”
He won't say.
Or can't.
I pray.
Malcolm is bound
by misunderstandings.
Autism does that
when the “cures” don't work.
How to explain
not waving at men
when he's been taught
to greet everyone?
“It doesn't make sense, but...”
So he doesn't listen.
Will he get a job?
Will he fall in love?
I pray he has the chance
for willing surrender,
to a woman.
I pray the police never ask
for his unwilling surrender
or mistake his autistic behavior
for noncompliance.
I pray.
Malcolm is free.
Autism does that, too.
Free
to immerse
in his favorite virtual reality,
no glasses needed.
Free
to like
any music at all
without worrying
if he's cool enough
or black enough.
Free
to do
zumba and tap,
no matter who sees.
Free
to be
gentle.
Free
to be
sweet.
Free
from having to impress
with a. stone cold, rigid mask
of masculinity.
Free
to be
Malcolm.
And because
Malcolm
feels free,
I pray.
Maria Thompson
Copyright 2016
************************************************
Archeology
You surveyed my
terrain and staked my
perimeter, undaunted that
the parched sediment had long
withstood excavation.
You penetrated my
crust, then gingerly
pick-axed congealed fury,
metamorphed to
marble indifference by
leaden disillusion.
You scraped away
layers of resistance then
sifted through grimy particles
of fear, seeking fragments
of surrender.
Deep beneath, a bolted door.
You broke the seal, inching
through snarled, darkened
corridors, shedding
warm, amber beams
of lamplight on
long-forgotten walls.
You found, within
the labyrinth,
bone-dry bones.
Can your empathetic ear
lay sinew on the dusty
skeleton of my desire?
Can your phosphorescent smile
bring flesh and skin?
Can the delicate brush
of your fingertips tickle
and tease until I
awake, imbibing your
prophecy, gasping for
life-giving breath?
Can your lips remind me of
things I’ve forgotten how
to miss?
Copyright 2019 by Maria Thompson Corley
Dr. Maria Thompson Corley, a Juilliard-trained pianist, composer/arranger and voice actor, was born in Savanna-la-Mar, Jamaica, and raised in Canada. A contributor to Broad Street Review, she blogged for Huffington Post. Her poems and short stories have appeared in Chaleur, Kaleidoscope, Fledgling Rag, The Write Launch, and Midnight and Indigo. Her novels were published by Kensington (Choices), Createspace (Letting Go) and Kindle Vella (More Than Enough).
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