It was a book of manners
she handed me
a closed book I failed to open
a book I could hit her with
No never would even think
to do that
so deep inside those many pages
words chewed-up digested
ʌð
The way of teeth
those curved rows
that meet and grind
mother and child
ʌð
The fence is made of years
sometimes I sleep beneath it
dream I have my period again
my mother is old her hair glows
I see her now and then between
the palings that stake the grass and sky
ʌð
The home
I grew up in was a clean
restaurant where
the cook aimed to please.
And did.
ʌð
A fringe of moss roses
zinnias up to my shoulders
the flowers and I grew
in her garden rototilled and
tended with peppers
squash and beans
preserved on the shelf
the child I was
ʌð
my bitter name
is bitter
in my bitter mouth
is butter
in her butter mouth
ʌð
each eye was a
beginning limb
each knot an
attempt how
lovely the swirl
of setback and loss
ʌð
the grain of the wood
its daily jotting
all those rays of sun
the tree ate
radiate inside
ʌð
Rain calls to the worms
such a pure language!
how they rise from the soil
glistening like earthen intestines
drowning they leave their home
ʌð
I have two children
the baby falls
into the ocean
below my house
I dive down
through the narrow
PVC pipe and snatch
my baby from the beams
of the saltwater basement
struggle to the surface
with the baby in my arms
then remember the other
Child –
where are you?
ʌð
The property of fastening
the ultimate mother
gift the clasp the
button the clip the zip
Behold beheld
ʌð
Which of us
the satellite?
interstellar
feeling and space
filled with rescue
ʌð
May follows me around
surrounds and fills in
behind me; May completes
me; no, I am a silhouette
in the presence of May.
I can’t – whatever I
try – I can’t shake May.
ʌð
Dear child humming
among the fallen
leaves hummocks
buried bottles
you break paths
and name them
ʌð
(but what is fire
I mean, time, made of?
can you measure it?
does it fill you up
or leave you empty?)
ʌð
just knowing you
are out there
making trails
in the woods
laying down paths—
I say to myself
This is enough
nothing more
could I ever
ask of you
ʌð
the stone in the path
turned dark grew wings
first it sang then it flew
ʌð
It was in the forest
of you, mother,
I made these paths
inside your fallen
and dead your ancient
middens these paths
of mine I carved
in you
ʌð
Fine brass fittings
I gave you she said
so you can open
and close years
on the seas
(wipe your glasses
polish your shoes)
ʌð
Here, she said
I will throw you
this cross-stitch!
Catch!
ʌð
How many times
did I say No
ʌð
dear Mother –
go ahead
look at the sun
it’s your last day
on earth
you need save
nothing any more
ʌð
I pull down the sky at night
take it into my arms fold its vastness
into the basket at my feet
