Mendelssohn, I’m working here. The collected poems of Anna Mendelssohn

It isn’t just that it wasn’t, going unchal­len­ged
or on the level of a line : it was that each one
was from the soul, which was not quite wren­ched
which is why dis­course is so impor­tant
& why I had trouble on my hands.

So which which why why may be unplea­sant
much less com­for­ting than bomb bomb thrust thrust
after bet­ween & before lesiure which moved me not
that my voice nei­ther my touch nei­ther that
nor my ear led me to your rea­dy per­se­cu­tors

but that you ham­me­red, and increa­sin­gly so,
gathe­ring detrac­tors & detes­ters to spit & threa­ten
that you could not take ano­ther point of view
that you still return to shout your accu­sa­tions
into my reve­rie alrea­dy trou­bled ear.

For why can­not you admit that your cor­rup­tion
was ines­ca­pable & that I was not the sur­ren­de­rable sort
who could so light­ly without thought
take your dic­tum as my obli­ga­tion
take your force as just, without fear, without condes­cen­sion ?