s i r e n

I became a criminal when I fell in love.
Before that I was a waitress.


I didn't want to go to Chicago with you.
I wanted to marry you, I wanted
Your wife to suffer.


I wanted her life to be like a play
In which all the parts are sad parts.
Does a good person
Think this way? I deserve


Credit for my courage--


I sat in the dark on your front porch.
Everything was clear to me:
If your wife wouldn't let you go
That proved she didn't love you.
If she loved you
Wouldn't she want you to be happy?


I think now
If I felt less I would be
A better person. I was
A good waitress.
I could carry eight drinks.


I used to tell you my dreams.
Last night I saw a woman sitting in a dark bus--
In the dream, she's weeping, the bus she's on
Is moving away. With one hand
She's waving; the other strokes
An egg carton full of babies.


The dream doesn't rescue the maiden.


Louise Glück, Meadowlands