Christ Church, Elbow Park
cracks but slowly as pearls are ground to dust (Hilda Raz/
"Fire Should Be Measured by
What Didn't Burn
"National Public News"
radius of this recent pain has a buzz:
nails & spikes
little bird, the rail rallies against darkness
day no longer
hikes her skirts up crossing a
stream, but puts on wool
sorrel-pony is in harness.
shades the bells
we bless nightfall.
of sneakers stains the cement garage floor.
clipped, touch & go
bite the haloes of your nails:
we be buried in linseed-oiled pear wood
years in black cafes?
we be wrapped in tallowed linen?
will tie, by Christ Church, Elbow Park, a bandage
umbrage At death will we be
luck & loss
silver harnessed umbrage?
The part of our married bliss that peels away from our other
life is saddening
park locked with snow: Pearling
( we remember the old days); the ice
a light back at the sky
a hollow feeling in the lungs like wings struggling to open
is a numinous labor of transformation
assuming imperability of marble
of the brass pull.
a Pandora's box:
children we extended our arms (a cape flies open, a carapace)
want to be elevated
all our stream-lined sea-eyed beauty
we are sixty and seventy.
my age outside
on a tree
mystery draws me the silver mirror scares me
things for which we give the other no signal, the heart whose
fingers were rapped, kept in
line at school
a snow box, are scarred, scored & somewhat cruel.
Why you have always loved neon
again, dark dog, Melancholy, off your anti-depressives, tongue
color of musk rose
of the ghost who barked at heels
ghost the tint of an old dusty wedding gown.
between times the funeral arranges itself like a ballerina
weather will be rain
color of the sky violet
sounds a drone: intersections of Calvary & Maine lit up
baths (as many a day as after polio)
ice pack makes me dream of Labrador
bears. I could have, should have cottaged you
lift myself from the brown couch, a chest nut in bloom
why you have always been attracted to neon
me in black cashmere sweater turtleneck thick ribboned
me in a ribbing of forgiveness
You have been translating 18th century papal briefs
around Europe in post French-revolutionary Europe as
you and you are me
to a field hospital. Don't want so much attention, it's
I say, though I'm not so sure. Thanks in advance.
Kay is known on the children's ward as Nurse Okay
foot ten inches tall.
Primary school U.K. nurse's training:
wears the flag of Britain on her breast pocket. Her breast
underneath must be hardly a swelling on the chest
back to that last tie &
British brass bands created to keep industrial workers
of gold trumpets rang & swung like churchbell ropes
brick factories in evening.
Each nightfall when I'm not lucky
ward light returns to
me, a bogey-woman with torch.
bed linens are scorched my name is besmirched
if (unlike a Catholic or southern girl) I touch myself. Not
ruled that legs stay together like best
could warn me of the agon, the boy never upset the steamer, he
on the other side of the mirror where things are slidey,
slippery a skinny dinner for the soul wailing at the broken
Multiple Languages came at me like pigeons from the cote,
terror with a blood-red throat: pulsing rubely
night barely got home when like melons big heads bobbed
hydrocephalic children's ghosts talking
in languages I could not understand
as a mirror blind sights one when slanted in all directions by
a restless hand.
wore the final tie I ever saw on a woman.
not want to go back to that day
with the past I desire
I was a roughneck riding branches like ponies,
ancestors down distant hallways
smoke-colored, coke-colored glass
oval become more oval?
owl become more owl?
language which unveils
the throat as a hood would the head
hood were cauled child, cowl?