Atlantic

I shall never marry Ted Hughes,
Not for old, red love
Or bright, blue money
Or fickle fame.

I shall never grieve with Seamus Heaney,
Not with salt tears,
Or bitter smiles,
Or sweet songs.

Instead, I shall laugh with the chevalier of
Hals,
Shall render Ranuccio as the Baptist,
And give of my unbleached titanium hair
To Medusa, whose fate was purest satire.

And walk, with Behemoth, on both my hind
legs,
And dance with Toulouse-Latrec--
No need to bend double,
I am already so, so small.

With Israfel sing, for I am young
And alive, and hoarfrost is strange to me.
My hair, strong and black
And still short as a boy's;

With all of my joy I will be
Young, for as long as is needful.
And then I will twine
Myself in his wedding-gown doom.
(finis)
Friday, 22 February, 2008
9h0am