Louise Marie DelSanto

Louise Marie DelSanto Poems

The women who steal married men are all named Diane
or Kathy. They wake up in the night in Baby Dolls,
sexy and steamy beneath acetate sheets,
thinking of hot tubs.
...

He wept for his father
His father who implored
him to not test life, to not
seek treasures unknown
...

One Summer he asked me
to get his pack of cigarettes,
but I was not quick enough.
...

One day my sister appears
at an Art fair
near the Scituate farmland
...

Decades ago, the waste of infatuation
hidden in my wallet pocket
a crumbled rose, a piece of stale
chocolate waiting to be eaten
...

At the end of the week, some drinking,
his best friend, and my mother waiting
by the top of the stairs with a basin.
We all learned our way around anger
...

7.

To My Chinese Father
...

I watch you eat
while my left hand
holds the cup with
my right.
...

I can think about pain
I can talk about the pain scale,
but feel yours? Pain has no remorse.
...

I tried to talk to him one Winter
when my mother was in the hospital
He was sitting in the parlor chair
taking a puff of his Camel cigarette
...

My sister is an African nun
that sits below grass houses
and rocks babies
until the sun goes down.
...

... and I will love you
exactly
the way one consumes
a meal
...

Hardly any man came by her way silently, and
being a perfect lady (with manners and all)
she smiled, and walked past the gentleman
seated in the cafe having capuccino,
...

In the room
behind the door half closed
the stench taking up the corridor
...

And one other thing,
she told me she liked
women and she lit a cigarette
...

Beyond the revolving doors
where steel poles and wheelchairs lined
up like sentinels along neatly placed furniture
and wild ivy tangled in ceramic pots,
...

A phonecall. A faraway voice, but not. A five minute drive, I know.
I hear my mother telling me she is going out Mother's Day
...

It was two years
since he sat at the table
and ate his last breakfast.
...

My sister became a parakeet
I would go to my daughters house
and see her clinging on the screen
of the front window and screeching
...

When death came
Like the fierce rain of Summer
when death came and drained his body
...

The Best Poem Of Louise Marie DelSanto

The Women Who Steal Married Men

The women who steal married men are all named Diane
or Kathy. They wake up in the night in Baby Dolls,
sexy and steamy beneath acetate sheets,
thinking of hot tubs.

It is always smoky where they work.
Under cashmere sweaters, their nipples
appear erect. They wear tight jeans because
vaginitis doesn't mean anything to them.

On their nails, little hearts.
When they walk, the scent of perfume.
When the wind blows, hair not moving,
hairspray clinging to oversprayed whisps.
Big hair rules sex toys.

It is the night that moves them.
They take the lead, and draw in
what they need to take. Survival, they say.

The women who steal husbands say
they aren't bad people, the smell of stale perfume
more like smoke than roses.

Louise Marie DelSanto Comments

Bill Smith 14 January 2006

I returned to Louise's poems today having not read for a while, I feel when reading that I am in conversation with her and she is there reciting her work just for me......she takes the mundane in every day life and gives it an air of beauty

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