“Our love-wheedling myth”

In honor of National Poetry Day, here is a poem by the wonderful Meghan O’Rourke from Halflife. She is a beautiful writer and person…I met her and heard her speak almost two years ago, thanks to a wonderful class I took in college. A set of her poems inspired a series that I later wrote for a final project.


We had a drink and got in bed.
That’s when the boat in my mouth set sail,
my fingers drifting in the shallows of your buzz cut.
And in the sound of your eye
a skiff coasted–boarding it
I found all the bric-a-brac of your attic gloom,
the knives from that other island trip,
the poison suckleroot lifted from God-knows-where.
O all your ill-begotten loot–and yes, somewhere,
the words you never actually spoke,
the woven rope tethering
me to this rotting joint. Touch me,
and the boat and the city burn like whiskey
going down the throat. Or so it goes,
our love-wheedling myth, excessively baroque.