Absolute Trust in the Goodness of the Earth Page 2

  Heart

  Your loyalty

  & true

  Devotion

  To a little

  Sister

  Who needs

  It

  As she brings

  Into being

  Music

  That honors

  & uplifts

  Life.

  You are

  The sister

  Of all our dreams

  Of sisterhood.

  May all

  Your years

  Reflect

  The loveliness

  & magnitude

  Of your

  Great

  Heart.

  The Same as Gold

  Now that I

  Understand

  That grief

  Emotionally speaking

  Is the same

  As gold

  I do not despair

  That we are

  All of us

  Born to grieve.

  There was a

  Small dark

  Girl

  In my dream

  The other night;

  She had been

  Left with me

  By strange women

  On their way

  Somewhere

  Else.

  Taking her into

  My arms

  Into my house

  Which had no roof

  My tears

  Covered us

  Like rain.

  My Friend Calls

  My Friend Calls

  My friend

  Calls

  From her front porch

  That overlooks

  The ocean.

  She is sitting

  In her sky

  Chair

  Her feet

  Up

  Watching

  The world

  Go by.

  How I love

  The joy

  Ringing

  In her voice

  The satisfaction

  I feel

  In her smile.

  She calls

  Because

  Gospel music

  Is on the air

  Where she

  Lives

  Angels

  Are on her mind.

  Coming Back from Seeing Your People

  Coming back

  From seeing your people

  You were

  So wonderfully

  Full

  Of yourself.

  But now

  You have supped

  With vampires

  They have fed

  Feasted

  On you.

  They arise

  Bright-eyed

  Fit.

  You alone have lost

  Not only

  Your sleep

  But also

  Your glow

  The luster of

  Affection

  Heart welcome

  Your people

  Sent home

  With you.

  Beloved

  You must learn

  To walk alone

  To hold

  The precious

  Silence

  To bring home

  And keep the precious

  Little

  That is left

  Of yourself.

  Someone I Barely Know

  Someone I barely know

  Except he used to

  Make me smile

  Slipped another woman

  & her odd furniture

  Into my house.

  It was roomy enough

  For two

  & she was vaguely

  Familiar.

  Still, she was not a tenant

  I chose myself

  & her dining room

  Table & chairs

  Though a rich blue

  I like

  Had the look

  Of gouged plastic &

  Tarnished chrome.

  The man I barely know

  Who used to be so tickling

  But now walks

  Without the old spring in his

  Step

  Was looking for

  Important papers.

  Of course I did not know

  Where they were.

  While we searched

  & I pretended to care

  (Though distracted by the almost familiar

  Woman & her misplaced chest of drawers)

  He mentioned his old friend

  Steve

  Who had stopped laughing

  Some time ago.

  Steve was only five years

  Younger than me

  Had a heart attack

  & died

  He said

  Scrutinizing moldy documents

  With an anxious frown.

  He is forty-five, this man,

  & has lost

  His virility

  It is this old passport

  That he

  Is looking for.

  Forget about the strange woman moving in with me,

  I thought.

  May we dwell in peace!

  To be happy

  I said

  One must laugh

  One must walk

  & then, almost

  As an afterthought

  (& meaning sex)

  One must make love.

  But I did not seem

  Too sure of this.

  Anyway. No documents appeared.

  To walk, to smile,

  These can be done

  From a very early age

  I said into his stricken face

  But perhaps

  In childhood

  Again in old age

  It is not necessary

  In order

  To be happy

  To fuck.

  Despite the Hunger

  Despite

  the hunger

  we cannot

  possess

  more

  than

  this:

  Peace

  in a garden

  of

  our own.

  My African

  Last night

  Early in the morning

  Just as it began

  To rain

  And I became weary

  Longing

  For sleep

  I dreamed

  Of you.

  African man,

  African chin

  Nose, eyes, lips

  & hair.

  Blue is your color

  & so it was

  In this dream

  The blue of the ocean

  We can see from

  Your green house.

  We were in bed

  Together

  And I was content

  Entwined

  With you.

  On the other side of me

  In the blue bed

  With the blue

  Disappearing walls

  There was a second

  African man

  Younger, not fearless like you.

  Decidedly more in need

  Of my care.

  Just for a moment

  I embraced him. Feeling wedded

  To you & knowing you are too sure

  Of my love

  To be jealous.

  We were in conversation

  With two other

  Dreamers, sitting attentive,

  Beside our bed.

  A younger woman

  Seeking to learn

  From me &

  A man in his prime

  Still thinking it possible

  To nail everything down.

  Apparently our conversation was about Literature.

  It is not about

  Writing

  But about living

  I said in the face

  Of the hammer

  He brought.

  How Different You Are

  How different


  you are

  from me.

  A Portuguese

  pirate

  is hiding

  in your curls.

  Your skin

  is bronzed

  as ancient

  gold.

  You smell of mango

  wild tobacco

  coconut

  milk

  & sea.

  All the things

  I like.

  New House Moves

  New House Moves

  I dreamed

  Last night

  That I had moved

  Into a roomy new house.

  How many new houses

  Have I moved into?

  And isn’t there

  Something always

  Behind

  These new house

  Moves?

  When I was a child

  We moved each year

  My parents

  Working hard

  Making nothing

  For themselves

  Except decency

  That went

  To the bone.

  Now

  In and out of dreams

  I am always

  Moving.

  Finding shacks

  & rundown

  Houses

  Fixing them up

  & then moving

  On.

  In the dream

  I said

  To the silver-haired professor

  Who introduced me

  To the Communist Manifesto:

  In this new house

  I am going to paint

  One of the rooms

  Red!

  It will probably be

  A small room

  He said

  Laughing. In such a large

  House.

  How am I to live

  In such prosperity?

  Sharing everything

  Still

  My cup

  Overflows

  & I receive more

  It appears to me

  Than I ever give.

  Poverty never prepared me

  For this wealth.

  Or to live

  In the houses

  My parents

  Stubbornly

  Dreamed.

  Trapdoors to the Cellar Spring-Grass Green

  In this new house

  Of many colors

  Mauve and blue

  Magenta and lilac

  With trapdoors

  To the cellar

  Spring-grass green

  I came upon

  A room

  Large, all white

  With pleated doors

  And a bed

  Curving the length

  Of the long wall.

  My brother

  Whom I had feared

  Was moving in.

  He stood there

  Philosophical

  Explaining the room

  To me.

  It had been

  The room

  Where all the junk

  Was thrown

  Especially those items

  Tossed from

  The renovation

  Of many toilets

  (Hence the row at one end of what used to be

  toilet doors).

  Now he said

  He would claim

  It as

  His own.

  In fact

  He lived there

  Already.

  His only possession:

  A quilt

  That resembled

  A map

  Its destinations

  Not easy

  To read.

  It is beautiful

  I said.

  And it was:

  A fresh vision

  Of a room. Spacious, light.

  Nothing much in it

  Every angle new.

  At the end

  Of the long room

  That smelled of plaster

  And newly opened paint

  There hung a white

  Antique

  Cookstove

  The most appealing

  Art.

  Why is it upside down

  I asked

  Though I admired it

  As it was. And was thinking

  Too

  What a long time

  It takes some of us

  To cook.

  Like some periods of Life

  It works better

  Upside down

  He said.

  And indeed

  I realized

  Enjoying

  Him

  At last

  It had already

  Worked

  On me.

  Whiter Than Bone

  Last night

  I dreamed

  I was in

  A fine

  New house

  Whiter than bone inside

  With tall

  Blue windows

  Etched

  In ancient

  Art

  I had forgotten

  I was supposed

  To be

  Somewhere else

  Speaking to a band

  Of musicians

  Whose name

  I couldn’t

  Pronounce.

  Lucky for me

  A woman

  Appeared

  Who kept track

  Of such things.

  Off I went

  To do my

  Duty

  Passing

  Water spirits

  Holding

  Dog-face

  Boys

  On the way.

  The woman

  Who keeps track

  Stopped to chat.

  I noticed

  The thick

  Hair on

  One little face

  Was starting

  To lift.

  I saw that

  I am passing

  Out of a life

  That kept me covered

  & leaving it

  With

  The one who keeps track

  To hold.

  Even When I Walked Away

  i

  There were odd

  New flowers

  In a vase

  Beside the door

  The door

  To my strange

  New underground

  There in the

  Semi-dark

  They sparkled

  Like

  Blue

  Jewels.

  Even when I

  Walked away

  Explored other

  Rooms of

  The new and spacious house

  They beckoned me.

  Come, they said

  We are strange

  We are new

  We did not grow

  Overnight

  Although it is

  Just now

  That you see

  Us

  And we are yours.

  Red Petals Sticking Out

  ii

  I could not accept

  That such strange

  Enchanting blossoms

  Belonged to me.

  Wearing my loosest coat

  I snuck into my own

  Dim foyer

  And stole

  A portion

  Of the generous

  Bouquet.

  Sneaking it

  Through the street

  Concealed but poorly

  Against my chest

  Red petals

  Sticking out

  I came upon my other

  Doors.

  Inside My Rooms

  iii

  Inside my rooms

  I began to mix them

  With the flowers

  I already had

  The too familiar

  Snapdragon

  The overly sniffed

  Daffodil

  The hollyhock />
  Ho-hum.

  A woman who

  Did not love

  Herself

  Passed by

  As I shaped

  This new

  Bouquet.

  She said: I’m leaving.

  I did not know

  She was still

  Inside my house.

  Let Change Play God

  Refrigerator Poems

  While visiting a friend I wrote these poems using words I found on magnets scattered across the front of her refrigerator.

  i

  Let

  Change

  Play

  God.

  ii

  Morning

  Storm

  Essential

  Worship

  Listen.

  iii

  Cloud

  Said

  To flower

  Rain.

  Just at Dusk

  Just at dusk

  I ventured out

  Beyond my street

  Two tawny cats

  Waist high

  Ran out to greet me

  Or so I thought.

  Sticking out

  My hand

  To pat

  The larger one

  I looked into its

  Eyes and saw it intended

  To eat me up.

  Is this always

  Where the lure

  Of wildness

  Leads?

  Blood on the trail

  The hand of the seeker vanished

  Down some “tame”

  Creature’s throat?

  The Moment I Saw Her

  The moment

  I saw her

  Looked upon

  Her

  Without

  Fear

  & to admire

  Her many

  Legs

  & her beauty

  Only

  In that

  Moment

  The

  Entire

  History

  Of basket making

  Was revealed

  To me.

  The old ones

  Would have

  Studied

  Her.

  They would have

  Started with

  Reeds

  In a circle

  Like

  Her body

  & kept them

  Going

  From leg

  To

  Leg

  Weaving in

  & out