Mother’s Love
In the moment, winged Cupid, his golden dart
drawn deep, poised to fly—instead distracted,
another gold, sweet honey awaits, a potent potion
at the end of the garden. Forgetting himself
over the matter of hives, he who stings, stung,
and so tears for his wounded psyche—a mother’s
laugh, a mother’s love, for such a small blunder
along the way to much greater tasks—let fly!
Ladson 2014
Words
of Love
In the days to follow,
I am planning to compose for you
a letter of my love
both delicately nuanced
and so luxurious in words
you will feel as if sated
with a sumptuous country feast
of quail and dumplings,
a letter so perfect in its resolution
tremors will work through you,
not as if you are terrified,
but as if dazzled by a fabulist’s tale
so labyrinthine
you will desperately call out to me
to smother you with kisses
to protect you from the torrent of emotions
you will most surely feel.
Until then, I am for you.
(Translated from The
Luccan Apocrypha, Vol. XIV)
Ladson 2013
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