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My Way

Don has the authority and Peggy has the emotion, but that’s in the past. She wears the pants and Don is crying alone in his apartment. Peggy lives in the not-knowing, each breath a gasp. Don lives “in the now” and “the know.”

His failures are a ladder, and she climbs it wrung by wrung.  Her hands reach up but her feet hesitate to follow.

They are two parts of a stumbling whole. Their pasts, a splintered truth.

One small tear at an ankle, could bring them to their knees.

 

When Peggy needs Don, he is glad to be needed, but it is the needing that desires, not the work.  The needing is a haunt

Peggy asks, “what do I know about motherhood” and Don takes a moment.  He simmers in their intellects.  He lets her stew.

She looks at him:  “you love this,” and he does, but not in that way.

He loves what she is capable of.  She is Manhattan. She is growing and growing. Her arms are pulsing with the blood of the next century.

When they dance to Sinatra, it is like every childhood memory  they wish they had, except she is not a child and Don is not her father. 

There is a tenderness there, in their package of equals. 

Their sale is not dependent on their cleverness.

Their sale is not dependent on their skill.

Their sale is dependent on their love.

 

And when Peggy puts her head on Don’s shoulder, and the moon outside is wide-brimmed, their love is pinned in the stars of the city.  Their love is based on their independence.  They both only know one way, my way.

 

© Umansky 2014

Khaleesi Says (2)

 

I will fight injustice with justice, she says.

and,  I bring you a choice.

But what if she said,  you will obey me?

 

That pride is a pit

and Khaleesi is no peach.

Brute. Burden Beast

She is Bullied, Brazen and Bare.

 

She has scrabbled with man, horse and spirit.

 

What is fire-born can be fire-ridden,

for, one hand has five fingers

One digit could lead the others astray

 

This hand is reaching up

as she is of the air.

 

She says, I will see each of their faces

When she says each, she means all.

What if,  in the moment that she leans in close

to the lens, there is a smear of sap

What then of womanhood?

 

A mother of dragons

is still a mother.

Her stare is blue:

a fire, not catching.  

a stunted sun

a contorted kiss

a vein left turned

 

this hand gives allegiance

and this hand,  the heart.

and this heart  beats

 

with the roar of a wingspan

so big it could cover us all

in darkness.

 

© Umansky 2014

 

Kevin Thomas, of HORN! Reviews, was kind enough to illustrate some of my Mad Men poems from my #madmen inspired poetry collection, DON DREAMS AND I DREAM. The poems are, “The Times,” and “In My Next Life, I Want To Be An Ad Man.” (Thank you, Kevin).

 

  1. I have a new website, check it out, here and sign up for the newsletter.

  2. Three of my Game of Thrones poems have been published in the January issue of  Poetry Magazine.  Read them here. Some of these poems have recently been translated into Norwegian by Beijing Trondheim.

  3. My #Madmen inspired, DON DREAMS AND I DREAM,   was recently listed as one of  “10 chapbooks you should buy” in Time Out New YOrk.

http://www.leahumansky.com/contact

Oh Don…

Oh Don...

Thanks to AMC for this fun app. I cannot wait for Mad Men.

image

I’m excited to be published in
“The” NEW Spring 2014 issue of The Poetry Society’s “The Poetry Review” out March 29.
(http://t.co/iCbNHrhwAu) #GoT

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