From Merrit Malloy's
book----We Hardly See Each Other Any More
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
This is not for you to feel
what I feel . . . But
more
for you to feel what
you feel
I write from instinct
... I am not so skilled
that you might let me
touch you
where you have not touched
yourself... So
It is not for me to take you
back to where I've been
But
more . . . For you to take me
where you're going
EVERYTHING I HAD
Hard to believe it now . . . But
there was a time
when I would have
given you
everything I had
. . . Trouble is
I did
THE MEANEST THING
The meanest thing
isn't leaving
. . . It's coming
back
And leaving
again
THE FIRST TIME HE KISSED ME
The first time he kissed me
I pulled away
... I wasn't
ready
"I wish I were in love with you"
That's what I told him
... I wasn't
yet and
I wanted to
be
The first night
we slept together
we didn't sleep
at all
The last time he kissed me
I pulled away
... I wasn't
ready
"I wish I were in love with you"
That's what I told him
... I
wasn't any more
and I wanted to be
The last night
we slept together
we didn't wake up
at all
FREEDOM
I'm free
when I'm with
someone I love
. . .
Attachments
release
me
Giving someone
my love
frees me from
the search
to find
someone
I can give
my love
to
Freedom isn't
being a/one
a// the time . . . Freedom
is being
alone
when we want
to be
alone... So
Go on and
ride the trails
. . . Your fury is not
so amazing
. . . Isn't
independence just
another tyrant? . . .All
you are
'free' to do
is search for someone
to come home to
again
Isn't asking
for freedom (often)
just a beg for the
opportunity to
be
captured
again?
A WISH
I know that these words
Aren't going to change your life . . . But
I
thought they might
change your mind
Catch 22
One of the last things
I
lost
when you
left
was
the
fear
of
your
leaving.
HOW I LEARNED TO LIVE ALONE
I won't cry
Crying never brought
Anybody back
(for long)
I'll be all right
. . .I've learned
how to live
alone
by living
with
you
PEOPLE LEAVE
People leave
. . . There is always
a chance
of that
... It happens
But you mustn't be afraid
to say that
you
don't
want them
to
It's true
. . . Sometimes people
don't come
back
any more . . . But
that doesn't always
mean they don't
need you
to ask
them to
There are lots
of people
who can't get
home
but it doesn't hurt
to leave a key
under the
mat. .
.Because
People come back
sometimes. . .
There is olways
a chance of that
... It
happens
And we mustn't be afraid
to tell them that
we always
hoped
they
would
It's true
. . . There are a lot of people
who
stay away forever
when all we had to do to bring
them home was ask
them
to turn around
A HARD THING TO SAY
"I love you"
That's a hard thing to say
for
the first
time
It sticks in the
throat... A
heart
birthing
The voice
(that old engine)
How easily
it
can bruise
a wish
The mouth
is but
a
messenger
"I love you"
That's a hard thing to say
when
you (finally)
mean
it
PASSING THROUGH
There are no strangers
. . . There are just people
who we don't know
yet
or don't know
any more
GOING PUBLIC
I suppose it would be easier to love a hundred men
I
could divide my loyalty
Give less to more
. . . I could Xerox
Valentines
And even with the paper work
the extra gas
the mileage on my
smile . . . Still
it might be an advantage to love a lot of men a
little
To give each one just enough of a voice
so that I might hear
them if they called
and wouldn't miss them if they didn't
Sure ... I
wouldn't climb the sky as often
Neither would I fear the
falling
Neither would I slap so cruelly on the ground
Yeah . . . Even with
the added responsibility
of remembering all those names and birthdays
Even
with the risk of utter mediocrity
Even with the wear and tear on all my vital
parts
... I think it may be easier
to love a lot of men a little
than
to love just one man
a lot
FOR ALL THE FRIENDS I HAVE THAT I DON'T KNOW
Who are you
that I've come to touch you
like this . . . You
who
write me letters
that can only come from
friends?
You say you've met me
in the dark? . . .That
in reaching for
myself
I formed a family
and held again
those whom I never
held
before?
What a perfect irony it is
That you should grant me
entrance into
your arms . . . When
the arms of the people
for whom these pages were
written
are closed to me
forever?
And who am I
to say that all friends
must be strangers
first?