How Is It I Could Love Her? Poem by Joe Fraccalvieri

That she makes no attempt at poetry
would be better to say of the spoken word
she has thrown forth
as having the affect
of fingernails across chalkboard

How is it I could love her? ...
My face most certainly resembles that of a drunkard
whose palate anticipates the taste of a fine burgundy
and gets a mouthful of vinegar instead

Her words, while colorful in themselves,
become muddled and muddied with each application
At first glance, her stanzas take you along rolling rivers,
only to dash you upon the rocks,
leaving you shipwrecked and bewildered--
wondering where you were headed to begin with

How is it I could love her? ...
Her poetic script piled up high upon the floor--
Loose rags waiting to be separated
into coloreds and whites
Her neatly folded sentences are missing socks--
Some still clinging to the cashmere sweater
that should never have been in the wash

How is it I could love her? ! ...
Her verses are empty oyster shells to my eyes
Her words on paper hang in my mind
like the twang of some toothless hillbilly
Her voice could make cats wince
The tension in her throat produces sounds
that no human ear should ever have to hear

So I wonder... Why do I love her? ?

Then morning comes
And I'm awakened by her movements beside me in bed
And I remember-- THAT's her poetry! !