first unafraid memory

What a trap this is!
As sterile as suburbia, and just as watered by tears.
These artificial droplet-shaped trees, and measured curving streets,
A well-meant precision that kills any sincerity.

you say it over and over again

...As if guided by a mantra! I am not a machine.
Did you see me cry when I drove away?
Here, the lawns are rationed like sugar. This must be
Where Sylvia lived; brand name ovens
And tile drives of black and grey.
I turn my head, bite my words, and pretend
as if I have nothing more to say.

No! No, I do not want to be comfortable!
I would rather hide my face!
Unhand me, or I cannot ascend.
I might as well veil my hair. I do not want to be a joy.
Oh, why would you say such a thing?! What killed my pride?
How dare I take it to heart? It isn't out of fear, either.
Silly.
I am not afraid at all;
All the fear has been pressed from me.

It is only grace that rescued this, and I wanted you to know it;
Not my grace! Something sacred to me.
O, fall on your knees
in the tile bathroom, tears pin down
in the car-- in the cold air
a moment of flight- a mad prayer of silver droplets
everywhere on a night of no snow.

O, fall on your knees
I am unafraid, unafraid, unafraid.
this is candy-apple grace,
my sweet memory of emancipation