untame, still
Her eyes
are like young mares,
dashing wildly for some escape
to the chains her body has thrown round
tomorrow, tying it down
to this sad bed, these muted
walls.
It wasn’t like this,
once.
There was a house with a garden
and a man who tended it.
He planted figs in the side yard
and brought home fried chicken for lunch on Sundays.
Together, they sat by the lake
and in the summer, the kids would
feed bits of stale bread to the ducks and turtles,
or string them on the old cane lines
to catch little sunfish.
There was no pain.
No drifting off into morphine clouds where
maybe, she still dreams of these things,
of painlessness.
Can she smell summer in her sleep?
Taste blackberries? See the walk
lined with purple flowers, hear
the wind over the water?
She scratches at the oxygen lines
as if at mosquito bites, moans.
Her eyes, underneath
pale lids, are like young mares
searching for some lost meadow.
Can she hold my hand
and remember
him?
purple
purple
is not only the color
flashing in front
of death and draped
over mourning; it’s the tone
of bruised cheeks against
angry layered blushes; it’s
a favorite of my grandmother’s
though she may not
remember
my name when i bring
it to her in puzzle
pieces and
teddy bears
but
it’s also
the color of the orchid
you brought me
with your chapped
heart over
a year ago,
now
in bloom
for the first time
as if to say
let bygones utterly
be
gone and
love
joyfully
flower.
nymph I was (ondine’s blessing)
open your eyes and forget
clink of disorganized pennies
I know I was here before
know I’ve seen this sunshine over summer-grass,
(it’s still winter)
but won’t be forever
this windowpane overlooking
paint-peeled railings
which really should have been sanded first
and, god, that wind
where’s my jacket?
(in the car)
see how they’re all ordered,
the nickels and the dimes?
so they don’t roll all around, you see
a glass of wine, please;
where are your pills?
what pills?
there, they must be in your purse
unhook gold-gleaming clasp:
see all my change?
the boys have been into this, I know it
just wait till I get home
those boys upstairs,
and now the oldest’s got a girl,
and they stay up there for hours…
aren’t they married?
pause
yes, in the church, yes
(the pills?…)
what?
look, there, all the pennies lined up
god, it’s cold.
another glass please
aren’t we going?
swear I’ve seen this place before
near the water, aren’t we?
seen this sun falling
on these same summer blades
as the wind momentarily ceases
close eyes and feel warmth
behind eyelids
without remembering once
aren’t we going?
(yes)
home, sleep,
(yes)
I sleep long.
