Dispatch
What remains is not your letter
but what you used to seal it
not your fingers
but what they touched
not your fingers
carved in lapis
in carnelian
I wrote you of a hero
in carnelian
in chalcedony
You impressed –
not your oil-and-water-name
but your symbol carved to say it:
in frit a weather-god on a lion-dragon
Which you wore around your throat
I’ll never take it off –
Not even when I’m dead
Not even when I’m dead
or next to your heart
Scorpion-man and bull-man still battling on a little cylinder
1800 B.C.
1700 B.C.
The numbers always speeding towards zero
In banded agate a king grappling with a lion
(a mute guard stands by)
(a mute guard stands by)
What held the breath in
the seal out
you pressed further into this clay
Wrote the letter I’d at last receive
Cover your eyes
Say you’ll soon come hunting
Say you’ll soon come hunting
in rose quartz
In rock crystal
Griffin-demon and griffin struggle over a calf
1200 B.C.
1100 B.C.
(We count backwards and forget)
Frankie Drayus received an MFA from New York University and has poems and short fiction appearing or forthcoming in Ninth Letter, diode, Third Coast, poemeleon, Passages North and Art/Life Ltd. Editions, which also used some of her collage art. Her manuscript of poems was a finalist for the 2007 May Swenson Poetry Prize. Currently she lives in Los Angeles. (frankiedrayus@gmail.com)