II.
You’ve got to call
He’ll die, you know, I’ll make the call and in the morning he’ll be dead
It would mean so much to him if you called, he’ll remember your name
And on his deathbed
But you’ll do it, right away, it’s got to be done
He’s an old man. There’s no escape from this.
And I told him you’d write. You’ve got to learn to
care more
With his eyes open, he’ll be awake when it happens
No one understands this more than I do. There are times one must put family first
Have you seen the way light comes through my window in the morning?
Do you remember how your hair used to smell?
Why can’t you just do this? For me? For him?
You owe at least a phone call
And the rest of the graves lie empty.
III.
Will you remember how I held your hand as you bled
The soft mahogany ripples in the shallow of your neck
The iodine I wiped away, with stolen wet naps,
From the strap they used to hold down your vital face
While they stripped away the flesh
I never touched those breasts myself
I was never the type to suckle
I stood a foot or two away at all times
And I know the cut as far as it will go
Below the skin, I’ve tried
To make this real in so many ways and still
The wind is cold on my face in the morning
And the night is a flood of regret, you said
It’s different when you really love someone they
Become beautiful to you; nothing can compare
And I thought
How much I’d love to tell you the whole truth,
Unvarnished, rude, broken
The sweat of strangers in my own home, which was
Never really mine, the threat
Of homeless lurking in the background, the sound
Of a car driving away late at night, headlights dim
Through the basement window. Oh momma, don’t leave me
Here alone, I’ve no more
Room to hide the pain my bed
Swims on violent seas.
IV.
The Lawson girl was
Walking, doe-like, blonde, as all were meant to be
Before the kill
And she could have been you
She could have been any woman
Alone at night, walking with crypts for eyes
And out of the car steps a man
You will know him by the white teeth and long
Furry tail; he says
Something you don’t quite hear, he smiles
But you’ve lost the fetish for him suddenly, you remember
That grandmother gets it in the end.
There’s nothing more subtle than the hunt
When you reach for your mother’s hand
It is not there, and your guts
Swirl into the wall
Of blood that makes you his. Oh parody of life,
Creature that begets
Generation after generation of undead crucibles, why
Must you enter mine own body with my heart still throbbing
As the weight of you crushes my bones?
V.
Where have you gone, matriarch of men, whose womb I prayed to
Night after night,
While I waited for the Father to save me?
Do you push up flowers
Beneath the sea?
Do you coo like a dove
Somewhere far from here
While my bitter throat grows silent?
Do you dole out forgiveness
From your virgin throne
While sparrows are everywhere dead?
I’ve lost you since the whippings,
I’ve lost you since the rapes,
I’ve lost you since the moon turned sour,
And when will you return?
fin
more coffee