Elizabeth Bishop, Valentine

February 13, 2013   •   By Jill McDonough

I’M GAY MARRIED to Josey Packard. When we were first dating, I gave her this poem.


The best part, the new black, the money shot: “and look what happens.” Josey and I say it all the time, meaning marriage. Its gold inlays, totaled pick-up trucks, hot girl-on-girl, and high-fiber snacks.


What happens: ceviche in central Mexico, micheladas made with fishy ice. Three hours in an airport lounge, an hour on a ferry. Crepey skin, creaky knees, double menopause, stat. Phosphorescence, Perseids, and Northern Lights. Ramos Gin Fizzes for breakfast, cold champagne at 4 a.m. Extra alive for all of it. 


And look.


— Jill McDonough


Elizabeth Bishop, “The Shampoo”


 


The still explosions on the rocks,
the lichens, grow


by spreading, gray, concentric shocks.


They have arranged


to meet the rings around the moon, although


within our memories they have not changed.


 


And since the heavens will attend


as long on us,


you've been, dear friend,


precipitate and pragmatical;


and look what happens. For Time is


nothing if not amenable.


 


The shooting stars in your black hair


in bright formation


are flocking where,


so straight, so soon? –


Come, let me wash it in this big tin basin,


battered and shiny like the moon.


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