Needless to say, her poem telling someone he ain’t gonna get it no way no how shook me because it brought me back to the warry days of last summer when I thought everything I did or said was a potential mine field – or quick sand as she put it.
The hit from Haverton convinced me she is still looking at my website and so I’m back to the mine set of thinking anything she posts – or more importantly, anything I do to react, is a trap.
It’s moments like this when I appreciate my cyber nanny and the fact that I keep most of my reactions locked away in a poetry journal. What she doesn’t see can’t hurt me.
This paranoia has been re-examining poems I thought I had already figured out, searching for clues to some other more nefarious meaning I did not detect during my first analysis.
As with my previous attempts to find a connection between her poems and me, I come up empty.
Whatever emotional crisis she is undergoing, it does not have to do with me. Her world is crumbling and she is struggling to find a way to cope.
If that one poem was an attack on me, then it is an aberration, something utterly out of context with the poems she’s posted up to now, otherwise, it remains what it seems – the next step in the final devolution of her romance, a bitter, angry retort to the man she once adored.
I got back to one of the poems prior to her bitter one, where she left the whole thing in the hands of her lover.
It is one of those poems any man in his right mind would love to have gotten from a woman like her, and so it is easy to misinterpret it, just as it is easy to find double meanings in most her poems.
She lives behind a veil of vague double entendre she can say what she wishes, and yet later be able claim she meant something else.
Yet, the more emotional she gets – in these later poems – the less she disguises her meaning, and it become clear that she is in legitimate distress – not as it was with me, but real heart break.
There is no trap in any of this. Mere desperation. And she needs him to make the choice for both of them, a choice he apparently refused to make or at best made in a way she did not like, and so inspired the more angry later poem – I possibly mistook at aimed at me.
It is hugely important to keep my own emotions out all this, and not to assume anything.
If she is conscious of me, it is as if of a ghost, she aware that I am out in the universe, and for her own protection, she needs to check up on me from time to time – explaining the page hit from Pennsylvania. If this is the case, the poem and its rage merely coincidentally echo the past, and although some of what she is saying may be relevant to me a year ago, it not about me now – something that would be a relief if true.
Yet even in the poem about surrendering herself to her lover, there are disturbing echoes such as who might benefit from her decline.
How can anybody benefit from her losing, least of all her lover?
She must know I read her poems. But it would sheer folly to believe these poems have anything to do with me, although if these things be truthful, then she is exposing inner self in an alarming way, throwing open her head and heart to people she previously believed might do her harm. You have to wonder what her Brooklyn stalker makes of all this? Is he aware enough to recognize what is really going on between the lines of these poems, the anguish she feels, the chill of a lover who she believed loved her deeply.
“Please be there,” she says, needing someone with strong hands bear her.
It would seem from the poems that followed this, her lover did not catch her in mid-fall, and if she is to survive, she is once more going to have to resort to her own resources.
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