from my diary

by richibi

these earlier “back tracks”, of which the following is one example, are pieces I consider still to be worth your while 

please enjoy                                                                                  


                                                                                                                                    December 19, 2002 

                                                                                                                                        in a few hours I’ll be headed out towards my mom’s
but already earlier than even the birds I’m up, have
dipped into my daily dose of poetry, an inspirational
text I’ve been reading for years in the morning I think
of as my prayer

this morning I perceived it as a constant, independent
of time and place, an act that rhythmically returns like
a heartbeat, a refrain, and defines me, gives me a character
outside the variegations of every day I can hold onto like
an anchor

and the text itself of course slips into my consciousness
and being and gives me guidance and shape

in return for my gift of laser eye surgery Greg got
me the complete works of Plato, which I intend to read
with him, and a plaster angel, a cherub, which he either
bought or found, and painted

the feathers are brushed with gold, the wings glisten,
golden silken locks seem to also carry light, the lips
a Cupid’s bow of cherry red are nevertheless innocent,
rouged cheeks flesh out the figure with freshness and

crouched on my bedside table it sits, its head rests
sideways on folded arms, piously, keeping an eye on me