Mary RuefleWhy I Am Not A Good Kisser
Because I open my mouth too wide Trying to take in the curtains behind us And everything outside the window Except the little black dog Who does not like me So at the last moment I shut my mouth. Because Cipriano de Rore was not thinking When he wrote his sacred and secular motets Or there would be only one kind And this affects my lips in terrible ways. Because at the last minute I see a lemon Sitting on a gravestone and that is a thing, a thing That would appear impossible, and the kiss Is already concluded in its entirety. Because I learned everything about the beautiful In a guide to the weather by Borin Van Loon, so The nature of lenticular clouds and anticyclones And several other things dovetail in my mind & at once it strikes me what quality goes to form A Good Kisser, especially at this moment, & which you Possess so enormously--I mean when a man is capable Of being in uncertainties, Mysteries & doubts without me I am dreadfully afraid he will slip away While my kiss is trying to think what to do. Because I think you will try and read what is written On my tongue and this causes me to interrupt with questions: A red frock? Red stockings? And the rooster dead? Dead of what? Because of that other woman inside me who knows How the red skirt and red stockings came into my mouth But persists with the annoying questions Leading to her genuine ignorance. Because just when our teeth are ready to hide I become a quisling and forget the election results And industrial secrets leading to the manufacture Of woolen ice cream cones, changing the futures Of ice worms everywhere. Can it be that even the greatest Kisser ever arrived At his goal without putting aside numerous objections-- Because every kiss is like throwing a pair of doll eyes Into the air and trying to follow them with your own-- However it may be, O for a life of Kisses Instead of painting volcanoes! Even if my kiss is like a paintbrush made from hairs. Even if my kiss is squawroot, which is a scaly herb Of the broomrape family parasitic on oaks. Even if a sailor went to sea in me To see what he could see in me And all that he could see in me Was the bottom of the deep dark sea in me. Even though I know nothing can be gained by running Screaming into the night, into the night like a mouth, Into the mouth like a velvet movie theatre With planets painted on its ceiling Where you will find me, your pod mate, In some kind of beautiful trouble Over moccasin stitch #3, Which is required for my release.
Mary Ruefle is the author of six books of poetry, the most recent of which is Among the Musk Ox People (Carnegie Mellon, 2002). She lives in Massachusetts.
