Making Love to Concrete
AUDRE LORDE
 
 

 

An upright abutment in the mouth
of the Willis Avenue bridge
a beige Honda leaps the divider
like a steel gazelle inescapable
sleek leather boots on the pavement
rat-a-tat-tat best intentions
going down for the third time
stuck in the particular

You cannot make love to concrete
if you care about being
non-essential wrong or worn thin
if you fear ever becoming
diamonds or lard
you cannot make love to concrete
if you cannot pretend
concrete needs your loving

To make love to concrete
you need an indelible feather
white dresses before you are ten
a confirmation lace veil milk-large bones
and air raid drills in your nightmares
no stars till you go to the country
and one summer when you are twelve
Con Edison pulls the plug
on the street-corner moons     Walpurgisnacht
and there are sudden new lights in the sky
stone chips that forget you need
to become a light rope a hammer
a repeatable bridge
garden-fresh broccoli two dozen dropped eggs
and a hint of you
caught up between my fingers
the lesson of a wooden beam
propped up on barrels
across a mined terrain

between forgiving too easily
and never giving at all.
 
     
 

 ©1993, 1995 by Audre Lorde

 

"Making Love to Concrete" is from Audre Lorde's The Marvelous Arithmetics of Distance, published by W.W. Norton & Co. in August, 1993. Lorde's work appear in this STANDARDS' tribute by permission of the Charlotte Sheedy Literary Agency, Inc., New York.

 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
 



     
 

 

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Original Graphic Image © 2001 by Emmanuela Copal de León
 



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This page last updated 29 September 2001