Saturday, February 6, 2010

Confession by Faith Vicinanza


When I would lie jumbled across the length of you –
all that was lost between us a little more or less
each day, or pushed aside – always arching
over the not-lost, the not-pushed-aside –
I pretended not to lean to the curve of sorrow's belly,
your hand on my knee, your tongue in my mouth
and then we would stumble, or is it that I stumbled
and nothing ever changed, black always claiming
to be something paler, cherry blossom pink perhaps
or simple yellow. I do not miss holding myself apart,
a defense against your pointed intellect. Oh, but I miss
your wicked sense of humor. I don't miss wanting
something more, or thinking there was something
more to be wanted. I miss my head on your shoulder.
Please forgive me. For this, it is too late to make amends.
For the rest of everything that faltered between us,
I forgive us both.

© 2008 Faith Vicinanza
previously published in Caduceus, 2008 Fall Issue, Tony Fusco, Editor
and in Husband, a collection of grief poems, December 2008, Hanover Press
and at YouTube: January 2009 and January 2010
Forthcoming Spring 2010 in Confluencia Anthology, Marianela Medrano-Marra, Editor


1) What first sparked this poem?

Grief over the death of my husband, regrets, guilt, loss, emotional meltdown.

2) Tell us about this poem's life.

It came in one pass, it has been edited a few times, but little editing, not my typical style, but this one held up from the first draft, mostly I think because it was a simple and somewhat disparate letter to my late husband, very much from the most inner place of loss and grief.

3) How long did it take to go from inspiration to published?

The poem was published within a few months, then published at least three more times since then.

4) Are you satisfied with this poem?

Very much so, it provides a small solace to the things I cannot change.

5) What, in particular, do you, the poet, like about this poem and why?

It gives voice to the wrenching and broken spirit, and provides an opening to heal the gaping wound of loss that is aggravated by the salt of if only, I should have, why did I, how can I keep going – this poem and other grief poems gave me a place to retreat to, to live when it seemed impossible, a quiet space of my own, protected, and comforting.

Faith Vicinanza is a poet, avid gardener, amateur photographer, Ms. Corporate by day, grandmother by night, poet always, with four collections in print and working on her fifth collection of poetry and a memoir. Her website is