Mimi - Mona Poetry: Weaving My Future From My Past

I think a poem ends when it answers itself; however, it may have resolved nothing.

©Weaving My Future From My Past

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

He complained I pissed on his corn flakes.

No! It was he who aimed his dick

as if I was a target in the snow and

drilled his piss-poor attitude into my chest.

Sometimes laughing uproariously,

sometimes weeping, sometimes running

and sloshing the red from my wine glass,

I turned in my painter’s brush and descended

into darkness and bowed to the iconic

figures of lovers past: clowns, actors,

artists, entrepreneurs, boisterous braggarts,

womanizers melded into a cast of characters.

I was weaving my future from my past

dreams, fantasies, and myths and some

alarmingly autonomous aristocrats who

were truer to life than super hero super humans.

I paid a fortune in words to get a grasp

on my feelings so I could think and see

that through the interaction, pieces would come

together and could hold a kaleidoscope of relations.

No longer suspended in ambivalence,

I continue to be attracted to double mindedness;

I am Atlas unburdened from the weight of others

in my imagistic life — I will be a woman at the top,

and then, maybe I can actually piss on

on someone’s cornflakes and walk away

remembering the first poem I fell

in love with and let it become my mantra.