Life had, the astrologer said,
_ _but one curse: I could not
_ __ _go mad.
When I heard the music
_ _I cannot repeat
_ __ _I was halfway home
_ __ __ _five years into the voyage.
Their voices were honey
_ _measure by measure
_ __ _dropped on the small of my back.
I married the ropes
_ _as well as the mast
_ __ _my writhing as ranting
_ __ __ _a plea as my shouts.
_ __ __ _Today I recall not one word.
When I beached I made thanks.
_ _I walked home to the face
_ __ _without an adventure
_ __ __ _to which I was wedded.
Mary Gilliland lives in Ithaca, New York, where she serves on the Board of Namgyal Monastery Institute of Buddhist Studies, the Dalai Lama’s seat in North America. Recent and forthcoming poetry can be found in Chautauqua, Notre Dame Review, Passages North, Seneca Review, Stand, and AGNI Online. (updated 4/2009)