Absolute Trust in the Goodness of the Earth Read online

  An even

  Steel.

  She blushes much

  & talks

  Of passion.

  It cannot be

  For the bourgeois

  Husband

  I never

  Liked.

  I thought life

  With him

  Had killed

  The wild-haired girl

  I knew.

  But no.

  There she is.

  There she goes.

  Blushing.

  Eldering.

  I too talk

  Stunned

  Of love

  Passion

  Grace of mating

  At last

  With

  My soul’s

  Valiant twin.

  Oh youth!

  I find

  I do not

  Have it in

  My heart

  To let

  You stumble

  On this curve

  With fear.

  Know this:

  Surprise alone

  Defines

  This time

  Of more than growth:

  Of distillation

  Ripeness

  Enjoyment

  Of being

  On the vine.

  Thanks for the Garlic

  Thanks for the Garlic

  For Susan

  Thanks for the garlic,

  I think I’m going

  To plant

  It now

  Not wait

  For spring.

  The bulbs are

  So fresh

  And white

  Their skins

  So tight.

  I love it

  That you did

  Not want to send

  Them in anything

  That would

  Crush

  Them. Though

  Crushing

  Is likely

  Surely

  To be

  Their offspring’s

  Fate.

  That you waited

  To find

  The perfect

  Box.

  Do you understand

  How like you

  This is?

  There they sit

  A smartly demure

  Row

  On the counter

  Near the door

  That leads

  To the beginning

  Of their future

  Lives;

  Fiery at heart,

  You say.

  Four hardy

  Garlic

  Souls

  Unrepentant

  Of their inner

  Flame

  Serenely

  Awaiting

  My gardener’s

  Pleasure

  Of time

  And place

  Unabashed

  By whatever’s

  To come

  Cool

  As nuns.

  The New Man

  You are the kind

  Of man

  Who makes

  Me think

  I want

  A husband

  Someone

  To warm

  My feet

  At night

  & who loves

  To give me

  Shoulder

  Rubs

  Someone

  Who likes

  To kiss

  My fingers

  And

  My neck.

  You do not

  Say

  Appalled:

  What! You’ve made love

  To other

  Women?

  You say

  Instead:

  All your life

  You wanted

  Your sisters

  Your mother

  & women everywhere

  To be

  Happy.

  You do not say:

  What is that

  Weeping

  Stranger

  Doing

  Sleeping

  Late

  At your house

  Again?

  You say:

  Do you need

  Help

  With this one

  Too?

  Can I go for

  Fresh water

  How about

  Food?

  What Will Save Us

  The restoration to the cow

  Of her dignity.

  The restoration to the pig

  Of his intelligence.

  The restoration to the child

  Of her sacredness.

  The restoration to the woman

  Of her will.

  The restoration to the man

  Of his tenderness.

  My Friend Arrived

  For June

  My friend arrived

  Heartbroken

  But wearing

  Fresh

  Smiles

  As she unpacked

  Bags

  & furniture

  Too

  From the back

  Of a white

  Convertible.

  Her presence

  In our house

  Although

  On

  So distant

  A floor

  You nor I

  Ever

  Ventured

  Near it

  Caused you

  To feel

  Our house

  Was

  No longer

  Your home.

  O husband mine

  If you thought

  I would forsake

  Even one

  Friend

  For you

  No matter

  How crazy

  You were

  Mistaken.

  The key to my heart

  I give back

  To you

  The key

  To

  Your house.

  Dead Men Love War

  Dead Men Love War

  Dead men

  Love war

  They sit

  Astride

  The icy bones

  Of

  Their

  Slaughtered horses

  Grinning.

  They wind

  Their

  Pacemakers

  Especially

  Tight

  Like Napoleon

  Favor

  Green velvet

  Dressing

  Gowns

  On the

  Battle

  Field.

  They sit

  In board

  Rooms

  Dreaming of

  A profit

  That

  Outlives

  Death.

  Dead men

  Love war

  They like to

  Anticipate

  Receptions

  & balls

  To which

  They will bring

  Their loathsome

  Daughters

  Desolation & decay

  They like

  To fantasize

  About

  The rare vintage

  Of blood

  To be

  Served

  How much company

  They are going

  To have.

  Thousands of Feet Below You

  Thousands of feet

  Below you

  There is a small

  Boy

  Running from

  Your bombs.

  If he were

  To show up

  At your mother’s

  House

  On a green

  Sea island

  Off the coast

  Of Georgia

  He’d be invited in

  For dinner.

  Now, driven,

  You have shattered

  His bones.

  He lies steaming

  In the desert

  In fifty or s
ixty

  Or maybe one hundred

  Oily, slimy

  Bits.

  If you survive

  & return

  To your island

  Home

  & your mother’s

  Gracious

  Table

  Where the cup

  Of lovingkindness

  Overflows

  The brim

  From which

  No one

  In memory

  Was ever

  Turned)

  Gather yourself.

  Set a place

  For him.

  Living off of Isolated Women

  Living off of isolated

  Women

  Is the easiest

  Work

  In the world.

  Tell them

  You climbed

  The mountain

  Just to see them.

  Tell them their wisdom

  Means the moon

  & the stars

  To you.

  Tell them

  Their money

  Buys

  Them more

  Of this.

  They Made Love

  They made love

  On the altar

  Of the church

  In which

  She received

  First Communion.

  It was the middle

  Of the night

  An old

  Almost blind

  Aunt

  Best friend of

  Her ancient

  Grandmother

  Happened

  To drive

  Past.

  The bride in

  Process

  Her long gown

  Crushed into the

  Flowers

  On which she lay

  Rose

  To go out

  & talk

  To her.

  While the groom

  In regal tux

  Washed her hands

  In the holy water

  Laced with

  Champagne.

  It is a ceremony, she explained

  To the old woman

  Who seemed

  Relieved

  To believe her.

  It is

  A wedding.

  It is an honest

  Way

  To become

  Married

  To

  The church.

  To Be a Woman

  To Be a Woman

  To be a woman

  Does not mean

  To wear

  A shroud;

  The Feminine

  Is not

  Dead

  Nor is she

  Sleeping

  Angry, yes,

  Seething, yes.

  Biding her time;

  Yes.

  Yes.

  Thanksgiving

  Everything that

  Has welcomed

  You

  Has paid

  A price.

  You want now

  To play

  With dolphins.

  Your excuse:

  They think

  They want

  To play

  With

  You.

  The Last Time I Left Our House

  The last time I left

  Our house

  You were sitting

  On the stoop

  Smiling.

  Your new girlfriend

  Had decked

  You out

  In brand-new

  Khaki shorts

  A rosy

  Peachy

  Shirt

  & stout

  Intrepid

  Sandals.

  Your wavy

  Hair and

  Wavering eyes

  Bespoke

  A forlorn

  Anticipation.

  Not for me

  For us

  Would

  You have

  Dressed

  This way

  Or taken

  A precious weekend

  Off

  From work.

  I am on my way

  Somewhere too

  My companion

  No lover

  An enormous

  Milkmaid

  Who has promised

  To drag

  Me

  Bleeding

  Through the armpits

  & groin

  Of lower

  Europe:

  Yugoslavia,

  Turkey,

  Crete.

  The house that

  We have

  Made

  For us

  Is perfect.

  I turn,

  Passing your

  Blindly

  Smiling

  Face

  & see its

  Grandeur

  How it rises

  Behind us

  Serene &

  Granite

  Like

  A cliff.

  In a flash

  I see how you

  Could duck

  The sharklike woman

  Zooming

  Even now

  Toward the entrance

  Of

  Our street.

  How I could

  Tell the huge

  Milkmaid

  I do not care

  To see

  The sights

  That she discerns

  My bloody

  Internal

  Landscape

  Is enough.

  I picture us

  Suddenly

  Remembering

  Our life

  & who indeed

  We still are

  Waking from

  This awful trance

  In time

  To stop

  The inexorable

  Flow

  Time turned

  Suddenly liquid

  Though glacial

  Slow.

  I see you rise

  I

  Smiling myself

  Now

  Take your

  Hand

  As we go

  Backward

  Through

  Those ornate

  Massive

  Doors

  That

  Reminded us

  Of eternity

  And cost

  Us so much

  To refurbish

  To repair.

  We back in.

  Toward bedroom

  Or kitchen

  Parlor floor

  Or den

  Or toward

  Those prismed

  Bay

  Windows

  We loved

  That almost

  Faced

  The bay.

  Backing in.

  With nothing

  To say.

  I Loved You So Much

  I loved you

  So much

  That when

  You left

  It took

  A lot

  To keep me

  Alive.

  Prayer helped. And giving

  Myself over

  To emptiness.

  Years later

  I sit

  On this

  Beach

  Not far

  From an old

  Hawaiian

  Kahuna

  Who teaches

  All and sundry

  How to clean

  Their bowels.

  Don’t

  Hold on

  To the Old

  Stuff, flush it out

  She says

  Leis to her

  Ears

  Perched

  Like a diva

  On her bright yellow

  Porch.

  I gaze

  Thankfully at the sea

  Time’s most faithful

  Clock

  Amazed

  That e
very trace

  Of that

  Old pain

  Your leaving

  Stuffed me

  With

  Is washed

  Clean.

  Winning

  The smallest child

  Understands:

  Anyone who terrorizes us

  Is a terrorist;

  Anyone who steals from us

  Is a thief;

  Any one who loves

  Has won.

  Falling Bodies

  On September 11, 2001, several domestic planes were hijacked; the planes were then used as bombs—flown into the World Trade Center in New York City and into the Pentagon, in an attempt to destroy them. The attack on the World Trade Center destroyed the World Trade Towers, two of the tallest buildings in the world. As the towers burned, people were seen leaping from their windows.

  Falling Bodies

  He told me

  Some of them were holding hands

  Leaping from

  The flaming

  Windows.

  To these ones

  Leaping, holding hands

  Holding

  Their own

  I open

  My arms.

  Everything

  It is

  Necessary

  To understand

  They mastered

  In the last

  Rich

  Moments

  That

  They owned.

  There is no more

  To learn

  In life

  Than this:

  How to

  Love and

  How not to miss

  To waste

  The moment

  Our understanding

  Of this

  Is clear.

  We are

  Each other’s

  Own

  Near and far

  Far and wide

  (Even if we leap

  Into loving

  In such haste

  It is certain

  There will remain

  Nothing of us

  Left.)

  Consider: The pilot

  & the

  Hijacker

  Might

  Have been

  Holding

  Hands.

  Those who wish

  To make

  A war

  Of this

  Will never believe

  It possible.

  But how enlightenment

  Comes

  To others

  We may never

  Know

  Or even