Lent 40: Sonnet

My sister tells me, on reading the selections I’ve made over the past 40 days, that statistically I like sonnets.

This was news to me. In all honesty, I probably only recognise that a sonnet is indeed a sonnet about half the time – if even that.

Perhaps a reason I like sonnets is that I like to be surprised.

Or perhaps I’ve chosen the poems that don’t involve too much typing, and fourteen lines is just enough, thank you very much.

This, so the title says, is a sonnet. It’s by Michelene Wandor from her collection Musica Transalpina.

     Sonnet

     I’m not easy with newness, tired
     with another version of eye contact
     which reminds me of a day across a table
     mozzarella teeth and olive tongue

     my hot blush is like the boy in a blazer
     across the library, teenage sweat
     then I carried the Valentine round
     for months

     now I want to believe that a smile when we
     swell within the same beat together
     means we might be together

     perhaps I’ve had it wrong all these years
     perhaps I don’t want to be with you

     just be you

See the intro/roundup