Meghan O'Rourke Poems
|2.||Sun In Days||4/4/2016|
|3.||The Night Where You No Longer Live||4/4/2016|
|5.||Demeter in Paris||4/4/2016|
|6.||Ophelia to the Court||4/4/2016|
|7.||Poem of Regret for an Old Friend||1/2/2018|
|10.||Persophone In The Golden State||1/2/2018|
|11.||Persophone In The Desert||1/2/2018|
|12.||My Life as a Subject||4/4/2016|
|13.||Inventing a Horse||4/4/2016|
Comments about Meghan O'Rourke
Never, never, never, never, never.
Even now I can't grasp "nothing" or "never."
They're unholdable, unglobable, no map to nothing.
Never? Never ever again to see you?
An error, I aver. You're never nothing,
because nothing's not a thing.
I know death is absolute, forever,
the guillotine—gutting—never to which we never say goodbye.
But even as I think "forever" it goes "ever"
and "ever" and "ever." Ever after.
I'm a thing that keeps on thinking. So I never see you
is not a thing or ...
Grew up on the Jersey Shore in the 1970s.
Always making margaritas in the kitchen,
always laughing and doing their hair up pretty,
sharing lipstick and shoes and new juice diets;
always splitting the bills to the last penny,
stealing each other's clothes,
loving one another then turning and complaining
as soon as they walked out the door. Each one with her doe eyes,
each one younger than the last,