A Hunting Ditty

Shots boom in the early dawn

as the night sky wanes to gray.

A grove or two away, somewhere nearby,

some hunter cocks

a mean weapon. I will not understand this slaughter

of Divine messengers.

Their anxiety and flight, close to mine.

Prepare the tools. 100-foot rag wick

lighter fluid, gloves,

wooden matches, black garbage bag.

I ask what will happen to my kids.

No answer.

My hands mechanically tie the laces on my boots and I realize

I am not stopping now.

A beater baby blue pick-up slants by the side of the road.

Inside, cigarettes and dirty camouflage gloves lay

wedged on his dash.

I move over the vacant, silent highway.

Now get the fuck out of here.

It's still dead quiet and I wonder if maybe it didn't work,

maybe it went out,

and watch in the rearview mirror, blind to what's ahead.

Boom. Boom.

I imagine gloves burning to crisp,wild ash

in that melting, flying fury.

Shrapnel, I say, and I'm a mile

away and scared and giddy

because I don't know what the word shrapnel is,

just a word from war movies,

and this is war,

with sisters Rage and Guilt and Pity as unlikely comrades.

Yet I sing sickly

It's all over now,

baby blue.

cancer ( kan ser ) 1. one time after the third chemo, my mom threw up all over herself and her new Thunderbird and tried to get to the kitchen sink before it hit again but she didn't make it and 2. she doesn't have any feeling in her legs and hands so she keels over occasionally and , when she writes, her handwriting is a little screwy and 3. I try to read her things about other cancer patients so she doesn't feel like she's the only one and that it's all normal, like I told her sometimes there's a loss of hearing and she said 'What?' and I repeated it louder and we both looked at each other and laughed 'til we cried.

Sisters

We dart

lit like silver fish in July moonshine

trembling in white ripples

over your silt and sand,

meandering Mississippi,

river born with us, river wronged.

Time was

when caressed in your chill current

we surrendered to you

as a delighted lover explores

the new magic of delight,

pleasure fresh,

each free.

'Til we bought and sold you

called you ours

married you to our wasteful ways,

locked and dammed,

you flow too fast, you flow too far, we said.

We keep you down.

Now we swim, we three,

cool and shimmering,

touching your scarred places,

marred in ignorance.

Tender is the pain

for your ready forgiveness,

sweet sister, sweet river.

Unearthing

Wild cranes northbound hoo across a jet-striped sky

and herald Her elusive glories

with fleeting hosannas,

lost

to the soul below, who, deaf

to that sweet and fugitive resonance,

digs a hole of mortal pain

and longs for someone

to fill it.

Another Stray

A tiny oriole not three inches high

bumped from mama's nest, I assume,

with bulging eyes, wings that flutter but do not fly,

and a tail fanned with an orange rim

stands poised on my garden walkway.

He holds himself erect on his new pink feet

and when I come close

he stays still.

Not again, I say,

I can't take him in, I say,

already imagining myself feeding him dog food every other hour,

him needing me to death.

I close the door of my little house

and hope he goes away.

Morning comes and he is there.

Black summer rain clouds threaten and thunder. So

picking him up, warm and soft and frightened,

live, sweet little one, live

I put him under the long, dark cloak of a Blue Spruce

and ask that She help him

and me, grief-striken once again,

let go.

BullÕs Eye

Plentiful deer tracks mark the path we walk

through the deep, still woods

covered in good packing snow, you call it.

You chat freely

while my fearful and impatient heart vests itself heavily

in worn old armor

for dreaded words I'll ask you now, months later,

about our torn end, the truth brocaded with lies,

unfinished cloth of sorrow I wear

poorly hidden inside.

You speak of her

her name, her words, how you loved her,

how she left you, how devastated you say you were.

You cry still, you tell me.

She supported you when I only blamed you for your deceit.

Because I was the wife, I say, but you don't hear.

Maybe my voice drifted along the way of does.

She filled the void. 'She stood by me.'

yousheyousheyousheyoushe.

I try to remind myself this is your stuff but

I feel only a miserable inadequacy and long tears,

now unchecked.

Stumbling numbly behind

I drag my walking stick along,

carelessly drawing endless white snakes,

no faith to lean on.

I am a mirage,

an abandoned way-station, far-off,

a place you watered up, passed on and forgot,

unsure it ever existed.

( Didn't you say you'd love me forever, I want to ask

and can't.)

For you, there are left indifferent remains;

for me, like threadless Ariadne,

the shame, anguish and useless weight

of a foolish and tired weaponry

I long to shed.

To Geddes

I wish I

were on gray,wind-worn Wauwinet

watching winter's

translucent green surf

lap with foamy tongues

wheat sand.

Beach brush and lichen strangle

blonde, blowing sands,

catch tight,

like an old man vainly grips

his young and straying wife.

I watched you slyly from behind my lens,

yesterday's sea pounding behind you,

I, drinking you

as sweet whole milk

in one eye-stinging

gulp.

No time to savor you, man-child,

as Midway Airlines now whisks me back,

silent and stupefied,

not knowing where to stash my faint heart,

back to the prairie.

Wild Ride

grinning like Tom Amadeus Hulce

he fondles that little silver fish that sways from his ear

hopelessly hooked it is

and talks

religion, death and sex, all he cares about, he says,

and, me queasy,

keeping the craziness caged

'cause I know this wild thing well.

Some day soon

something's gonna happen between him and me.

Desire

clattering fast, far-off, rumbles down deep

rattling old tracks fools ride.

Here comes the 'L''word

here comes

oh no,

oh,

Yes.

	A Hunting Ditty Shots boom in the early dawn as the night sky wanes to gray. A grove or two away, somewhere nearby, some hunter cocks a mean weapon. I will not understand this slaughter of Divine messengers. Their anxiety and flight, close to mine. Prepare the tools. 100-foot rag wick lighter fluid, gloves, wooden matches, black garbage bag. I ask what will happen to my kids. No answer. My hands mechanically tie the laces on my boots and I realize I am not stopping now. A beater baby blue pick-up slants by the side of the road. Inside, cigarettes and dirty camouflage gloves lay wedged on his dash. I move over the vacant, silent highway. Now get the fuck out of here. It's still dead quiet and I wonder if maybe it didn't work, maybe it went out, and watch in the rearview mirror, blind to what's ahead. Boom. Boom. I imagine gloves burning to crisp,wild ash in that melting, flying fury. Shrapnel, I say, and I'm a mile away and scared and giddy because I don't know what the word shrapnel is, just a word from war movies, and this is war, with sisters Rage and Guilt and Pity as unlikely comrades. Yet I sing sickly It's all over now, baby blue. cancer ( kan ser ) 1. one time after the third chemo, my mom threw up all over herself and her new Thunderbird and tried to get to the kitchen sink before it hit again but she didn't make it and 2. she doesn't have any feeling in her legs and hands so she keels over occasionally and , when she writes, her handwriting is a little screwy and 3. I try to read her things about other cancer patients so she doesn't feel like she's the only one and that it's all normal, like I told her sometimes there's a loss of hearing and she said 'What?' and I repeated it louder and we both looked at each other and laughed 'til we cried. Sisters We dart lit like silver fish in July moonshine trembling in white ripples over your silt and sand, meandering Mississippi, river born with us, river wronged. Time was when caressed in your chill current we surrendered to you as a delighted lover explores the new magic of delight, pleasure fresh, each free. 'Til we bought and sold you called you ours married you to our wasteful ways, locked and dammed, you flow too fast, you flow too far, we said. We keep you down. Now we swim, we three, cool and shimmering, touching your scarred places, marred in ignorance. Tender is the pain for your ready forgiveness, sweet sister, sweet river. Unearthing Wild cranes northbound hoo across a jet-striped sky and herald Her elusive glories with fleeting hosannas, lost to the soul below, who, deaf to that sweet and fugitive resonance, digs a hole of mortal pain and longs for someone to fill it. Another Stray A tiny oriole not three inches high bumped from mama's nest, I assume, with bulging eyes, wings that flutter but do not fly, and a tail fanned with an orange rim stands poised on my garden walkway. He holds himself erect on his new pink feet and when I come close he stays still. Not again, I say, I can't take him in, I say, already imagining myself feeding him dog food every other hour, him needing me to death. I close the door of my little house and hope he goes away. Morning comes and he is there. Black summer rain clouds threaten and thunder. So picking him up, warm and soft and frightened, live, sweet little one, live I put him under the long, dark cloak of a Blue Spruce and ask that She help him and me, grief-striken once again, let go. BullÕs Eye Plentiful deer tracks mark the path we walk through the deep, still woods covered in good packing snow, you call it. You chat freely while my fearful and impatient heart vests itself heavily in worn old armor for dreaded words I'll ask you now, months later, about our torn end, the truth brocaded with lies, unfinished cloth of sorrow I wear poorly hidden inside. You speak of her her name, her words, how you loved her, how she left you, how devastated you say you were. You cry still, you tell me. She supported you when I only blamed you for your deceit. Because I was the wife, I say, but you don't hear. Maybe my voice drifted along the way of does. She filled the void. 'She stood by me.' yousheyousheyousheyoushe. I try to remind myself this is your stuff but I feel only a miserable inadequacy and long tears, now unchecked. Stumbling numbly behind I drag my walking stick along, carelessly drawing endless white snakes, no faith to lean on. I am a mirage, an abandoned way-station, far-off, a place you watered up, passed on and forgot, unsure it ever existed. ( Didn't you say you'd love me forever, I want to ask and can't.) For you, there are left indifferent remains; for me, like threadless Ariadne, the shame, anguish and useless weight of a foolish and tired weaponry I long to shed. To Geddes I wish I were on gray,wind-worn Wauwinet watching winter's translucent green surf lap with foamy tongues wheat sand. Beach brush and lichen strangle blonde, blowing sands, catch tight, like an old man vainly grips his young and straying wife. I watched you slyly from behind my lens, yesterday's sea pounding behind you, I, drinking you as sweet whole milk in one eye-stinging gulp. No time to savor you, man-child, as Midway Airlines now whisks me back, silent and stupefied, not knowing where to stash my faint heart, back to the prairie. Wild Ride grinning like Tom Amadeus Hulce he fondles that little silver fish that sways from his ear hopelessly hooked it is and talks religion, death and sex, all he cares about, he says, and, me queasy, keeping the craziness caged 'cause I know this wild thing well. Some day soon something's gonna happen between him and me. Desire clattering fast, far-off, rumbles down deep rattling old tracks fools ride. Here comes the 'L''word here comes oh no, oh, Yes.