turned to water under the white words
of the man at the shoe store. ask me,
though she tells it better than i do,
not because of her charm
but because it never happened
she says,
no bully salesman swaggering,
no rage, no shame, none of it
ever happened.
i only remember buying you
your first grown up shoes
she smiles. ask me
how it feels.
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listen children
you have for keepingalwayskeep it all wayswe have never hated blacklistenwe have been ashamedhopeless tired madbut alwaysall wayswe loved uswe have always loved each otherchildren all wayspass it on
i need to know their names
jauntily the way men go in groupsswinging their arms, and the onesthose sweating women whom i would have joinedafter a hard game to chew the fatwhat would we have called each other laughingjoking into our beer? where are my gangs,my teams, my mislaid sisters?all the women who could have known me,where in the world are…
the time i dropped your almost body down
and run one with the sewage to the seawhat did i know about waters rushing backwhat did i know about drowningor being drownedyou would have been born in winterin the year of the disconnected gasand no carwe would have made the thin walkover the genecy hill into the canada windsto let you slip into a…
it lay in my palm soft and trembled
authority and how it always insistedon itself, how it was masterof the man, how it measured him, neverwas ignored or denied, and how it promisedthere would be sweetness if it was obeyedjust like the saints do, like the angelsand i opened the window and held out myuncupped hand; i swear to godi thought it could…
is it the cut glass
looking up towardthe new gnarled branchof the black manhanging from a tree?is it the white milk pleatedcollar of the womansmiling toward the camera,her fingers loose arounda christian cross droopingagainst her breast?is it all of uscaptured by history into anaccurate album? will we berequired to view it togetherunder a gathering sky?
and the gulf enters the sea and so forth,
all of them carrying yesterdayforever on their white tipped backs,all of them dragging forward tomorrow.it is the great circulationof the earth’s body, like the bloodof the gods, this river in which the pastis always flowing. every wateris the same water coming round.everyday someone is standing on the edgeof this river, staring into time,whispering mistakenly:only here….