to be a marionette - a poem

to be a marionette

seemingly impossible this love
to have and to hold until death {blah blah blah}
hhhmmm, death transformation or death grave?

this thing we called marriage now binds me
a blessing, of course
a prison, yes that too

wanting something that used to be free
and now so many strings
to make all the marionettes dance
all of them, that is,
but me

irony is, i am the one who wants to dance
to dance that mating ritual
free of love's responsibility
satiating that part of being when time forgets all else

so, the marionettes dance and i play tag with my conscious
wondering just how and if and why not
until the standoff ends with
you in your bed and i in mine

-elaine
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