If only the nudes weren't so serious, but giggling, like the two little girls holding hands. They ask a woman absorbed by a woman, lit as though from the bottom of a pond, “Who painted the naked lady?” “Titian,” she answers, and the girls, still holding hands, jump up, skip, hooting through the sixteenth century…
All their sons are gone and my parents sit in their mountaintop kitchen. Language comes and goes like a far-off sound fading with a breeze. One cannot say “speak” and speak. A ground hog finds their cucumbers. In the valley fire finds a building. They call the smoke a scarf. But they know better. On…
Awe-inspring cliff, white desire. Water springing forth from blood. Let my form narrow, let it crush my body, so that everything is one: slag and skeletons, fistful of earth. You drink me as though draining off the color of my soul. You lap me up, a little fly in a tiny boat. My head is…
We begin with a catalog of all the dead things seen or not seen in the way the eyes turn quickly away and return again furtively (was that a dog or a pile of trash swarming with flies?) The black rat in the stream drowned between two stepping stones the water washing through his coat…
Tonight I won't dance behind the ark. And if they pound on my door, the dancers with their torn shirts, their voices whooping over the storm, I will blow out the light and hold hands with sweet Michal in the dark. I know the people will come out to watch the ark pass like a…
To want is to rub out death. To smack its white skin with a stamp and then stare at the eggs. Spin a vase around, let it hiss like a top, and dismember hymns. Nature contains several planes, one of which walks balanced on edge, munching milk. To want is to collapse into ocean galleys….
The blue light of the teevee glowed on our blue faces. Ray Charles sang of Georgia on his mind. “His mind? That nigger doesn't have a mind!” Grandmomma said. She threw her tatting down on her lap, hawked once, dipped snuff, and glowered at the teevee set. “Damn niggers taking over teevee. You can't watch…
I feel cloudy, stumble often, knock my skull on the roof of the car getting in because I'm having a stint of daydreams. In one it's raining, weeks of it, then for no reason sunlight returns fingersnapping through trees. In this one it's Paris, a lonely attic, I remove a letter from its ragged envelope…
Huge drowsy yellow jackets rose out of the sick-sweet stink of fruit— a tub of scuppernongs wedged in between me and my uncle. He said, “Hold that tub steady. Don't let her tip.” He drove and boasted of his new air pump and how only fools would pay full retail price. And when the wasps…
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