Suddenly the drunken sweetheart appeared out of my door.
She drank a cup of ruby drink and sat by my side.
Seeing and holding the lockets of her hair
My face became all eyes, and my eyes all hands.
Written by Rumi
Translated by Shahram Shiva from Thief of Sleep
The Corner of My Eye
She dwells at the corner of my eye
like the newspaper man,
the wife of the newspaper man
the day after he was murdered,
the hot dog stand owner,
and the wooden light pole riddled with fliers and staples.
Not the staples you can pry off with thumbnail but the heavy duty ones
meant for stapling decrees, city auctions, and official notices.
The ones that will rip your nails clean out of the socket or whatever
you call the tissue that binds them to finger tip.
She permeates my peripheral view.
Sets up shop in the corner of my eye.
Sells double-takes for half-off and 2-for-1 specials.
Women are like hot dog stand operators.
Sometimes there and others, absent.
They think they can come and go as they please just because they’re mobile.
Oblivious to the fact that humans are habit-forming and there’s someone
expecting to have them today around 3pm with relish
or mustard
and ketchup or mustard
no ketchup or chili
or whatever people eat on their hot dogs.
Never mind the fact that I have business to handle
and not the ritziest of restaurants can accommodate me right now.
The point is that she’s best suited on the corner of my eye
where
I can always imagine that I saw her
and even if she is no longer
really there to be seen. If my death certificate ever reads
that I died from self-immolation know that my autopsy report was inaccurate.
Too cowardly to set myself ablaze, I could only have self-combusted
from the fire caused from my burning passion for her.
Love is no fairy tale though so
I’m content in giving her this patch
of broken concrete
with varicose veins, weeds blooming from them like burst blood vessels.
Too afraid to look directly at her in fear of pushing her away.
This corner-dweller.
This bag lady beholding the keepsakes and compliments I have been too
reluctant to give her.
This wooden light pole with all of my imagined approaches
ripped from
her like fliers and posters
of tonight’s club promotion,
last month’s big screen movie at the
park, and last year’s,
now illegible solicitation for a lost dog.
I saw her out the corner of my eye.
by Dorian “Paul D” Rogers
