Marian Kaplun Shapiro
“Le désir
de l’homme, c’est le désir de l’Autre”
(Jacques
Lacan)
which translates as
“Man’s
desire is for the Other to desire him”
or as
“Man’s
desire is the desire of the Other.”
Your I is just an antique
lie, n’est pas? Watching
(looking) out, landmarks
become toys, sandwiched
between white-bread clouds,
you don’t (won’t) remember
how They didn’t (did)
tell you who you are.
Free, They said. Yourself,
They said, calling you
by the name They’d argued
over: After Uncle
so-and so...After
Grandma such-and-such...
After the hero of the battle
of once-upon-a-time.
We
love
you, no matter what,
They’d said, meaning even
if you don’t get into college,
even if you do (don’t)
marry a Jew, even
if you’re gay. Even.
Even, especially
you know what They’d wanted.
Want. You want to want,
but your wanting cancels your
unwanting, and your mind
has fallen asleep with the effort
of ungetting. The plane now
soaring at fifteen
thousand feet, your yesses
pop up like loons in
a turbulent summer lake.
Your words console you, hold you
captive in your mouth,
becoming Them as They
become you. Your turn
now. Meaning to mean
you lose the ultimate dare.
Jumping into the icy
sky, you live wildly
for a moment, among old
choices. You pull the ripcord,
opting for the gravity of Their
(your) earth, at the last
conceivable minute.