Poem Therapy at 8:18 P.M. - Maureen Gibbon

Maureen Gibbon

Magdalena Remembering
Maureen Gibbon

When I was young my body was money. I bought what I thought would
please me. I would have married a man who kissed the fine fan of bones in
my foot. I squandered my pretty breasts and thighs, looking for him.

I never slept beside those men. I sat on their laps and pulled kisses from their
mouths—but I never did sleep. Never dreamed. I couldn’t let them see
that in me: my pictures of red flowers, scented lakes, damask, orange trees.
In dreams I breathed water. In dreams I flew.

After a man left I’d stand a long time in front of the mirror, brushing my hair.
Thinking.

My belly’s empty and I want something sweet.
My belly’s empty and I want something salt.
My belly’s empty and I want a bitter thing.

Somewhere there is a bird like my soul.

Yes, I believe that somewhere there is a bird like my soul, wanting a sweet, wanting a salty treat, and then something sour so that the body craves sweetness yet again.

Tonight, my soul is rather like a bluebird, a brilliant-hued ribbon against the silhouette of the noon day sky; a joyful symbol for those who choose to look up, look to the sun.

You can read more of Gibbons prose poems, nonfiction, fiction, and novel excerpts on the publication page of her website.