By the gas-fire, kneeling
to undress,
scorching luxuriously, raking
her nails over olive sides, the red
waistband ring------
(And the little sister
beady-eyed in the bed--
or drowsy, was I? My head
a camera)
Sixteen. Her breasts
round, round, and
dark-nippled------
who now these two months long
is bones and tatters of flesh in earth.
The high pitch of
nagging insistence, lines
creased into raised eyebrows----
Ridden, ridden---
the skin around the nails
nibbled sore---
You wanted
to shout the world to the senses,
did you?----
Black one, black one
there was a white
candle in your heart
written by Denise Levertov, 1964
