Mock Orange Poem

Mock Orange

 BY LOUISE GLÜCK

 

 It is not the moon, I tell you.

 It is these flowers

 Lighting the yard.

 

I hate them.

I hate them as I hate sex,

 the man's mouth sealing my mouth, the man's

paralyzing body-

 

and the cry that always escapes,

the low, humiliating.

premise of union-

 

 In my mind tonight

 I hear the question and pursuing answer

 fused in one sound

 that mounts and mounts and then

 is split into the old selves,

 the tired antagonisms. Do you see?

We were made fools of .

 And the scent of mock orange

 drifts through the window. 

 

How can I rest?

How can I be content

 when there is still that odor in the world?