Password
Dogs dead for nineteen
years guard our email; wrought
iron gates of husbands
and wives and children swing
open to reveal the balance
in the checking account to you only,
once you’ve spoken of them.
Numbers figure in, too. Birthdays
climb onto mothers’
maiden names, signifiers for athletes
follow types of instruments
we adore but have never mastered.
Our passwords mine
the memory, scanning for entities
that affect us so intensely
we wish to write their names again
and again. We call on them
for protection and write them back
into the terrestrial script
of currency and correspondence.
Yes. Only you could write a poem about passwords. I love "the terrestrial script of currency and correspondence." The phenomenon itself is interesting; I would wager that all mothers use their children's info somehow somewhere in their password lexicon and that fathers don't. That's the strength of the bond -- it's in everything, the core of a mother's being. Enough said.
ReplyDeleteAbsolutely beautiful and true and because it is true I have to resist the impulse to use the names and numbers and dates of words that unlock so much memory and meaning for me. So beautiful. One of my favorites.
ReplyDeleteWonderful poem! I laughed out loud reading your first line, after the second read, and I got it! I use the name of a beloved dog for my e-mail password on some of my accounts. She has been dead for more than nineteen years.
ReplyDelete"Our passwords mine
the memory, scanning for entities
that affect us so intensely
we wish to write their names again
and again. We call on them
for protection and write them back
into the terrestrial script
of currency and correspondence."
I never thought that our passwords are like talismans, and we call on them for protection. We do.
This is extremely fabulous. I'm jealous of every word here. Delightfully jealous.
ReplyDelete