For my father In your orange flight suit, you approached the Renault we knew might stall after a hard winter freeze. With your pilot’s hand, you turned the engine. When it caught, I ran down the walkway you had shoveled. Cinderella lunch-box under my arm, I climbed in the frozen capsule, and waited for you…
I lived among a people who said, pig, for luck. They might have said stork or flounder for these beings were familiar to them, as were rat and donkey. But they said, pig. No doubt from ingrained habit. Real pig, fella. Some pig you had, my friend. What pig. Good pig! Hey, have a piggy…
Stilts sink into stiltprints left by the dead child in the soft earth. If his living friend stalks in those holes, if he throws each long crutch stiff-legged ahead of him, will he win the race? One dead foot, one live . . . he hops on bones, a lame pony, a giraffe limping fast…
God said He would destroy Earth’s violent flesh, but spare me. Was there gratitude enough for such a burden? My family blessed Him. They built the ark according to His dimensions, cubit by square cubit. He was specific, demanding gopher wood, three stories pitched within, one window, and two of every creature. Opening a door…
Most ancient Metaphysics, (poor Metaphysics!) All decked up in imitation jewelry. We went for a stroll, arm in arm, smooching in public Despite the difference in our age. It was still the 19th century, she whispered. We were in a knife-fighting neighborhood Among some rundown relics of the Industrial Revolution. Just a little further, she…
We went down to the ocean, wearing the silk hats we wore to the funeral. It was like a party, people drank too much. No one mentioned the dead child. Someone said that the idea for escalators came from the waves. A woman interpreted dreams: a window stood for fear, a wheatfield, fate. I lay…
Simon’s house was elegant, with spacious apartments. I like to think lilacs fell from my hair. Simon himself was dignified, secure. It was a supper of powerful men; I crouched under the table, at the feet of the man I loved, applying ointment to His feet, out of the usual desire. Tonight the table is…
Are these mellifluous sheep, And these the meadows made twice-melliferous by their bleating? Is that the famous mechanical wind-up shepherd Who comes with instructions and service manual? This must be the regulation white fleece Bleached and starched, And we could be posing for our first communion pictures, Except for the nasty horns. I am beginning…
Let us those who have obliterated so many faces deny their own faces let us grant them no faces let us blot out their faces the sun eats the snow let time devour their faces let us look for the faces of those they killed who died faceless in the name of…
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