Absolute Trust in the Goodness of the Earth Read online

  Pre–rainy season

  Convention.

  They do not see WAR

  Huge tires

  Of a

  Camouflaged

  Vehicle

  About to

  Squash

  Them flat.

  Though War has a mind of its own

  War never knows

  Who

  It is going

  To hit.

  Picture a donkey

  Peacefully

  Sniffing a pile

  Of straw.

  A small boy

  Holds

  The end

  Of its

  Frayed

  Rope

  Bridle.

  They do not see it

  They are both thinking

  Of dinner.

  The boy

  Is hoping for

  Polenta & eggs

  Maybe a carrot

  Or apple

  For

  Dessert.

  Just above

  Them

  Something dark

  Big as

  A car

  Is

  Dropping.

  Though War has eyes

  Of its own

  Gas

  & mahogany trees

  & every shining thing

  Under

  The earth

  When it comes

  To nursing

  Mothers

  It is blind;

  Milk, especially

  Human,

  It cannot

  See.

  Picture a woman

  Beside a window.

  She is blissful

  Singing

  A lullaby.

  A baby twirls

  A lock of her

  Dark hair

  Suckles

  For all

  It is

  Worth.

  They do not smell War

  Dressed in

  Green & brown

  Imitating

  Their fields

  Marching slowly

  Toward them

  Up

  The steep

  Hill.

  Though War is Old

  It has not

  Become wise.

  It will not hesitate

  To destroy

  Things that

  Do not

  Belong to it

  Things very

  Much older

  Than itself.

  Picture the forest

  With its

  Rivers

  & rocks

  Its pumas

  Its

  Parakeets

  Its turtles

  Leopards

  Snakes.

  High above them War

  Has turned itself

  Into a white cloud

  Trailing

  An

  Airplane

  That

  Dusts

  Everything

  Below

  With

  A powder

  That

  Kills.

  War has bad manners.

  War eats everything

  In its path

  & what

  It doesn’t

  Eat

  It

  Dribbles

  On:

  Here

  War is

  Munching on

  A village

  Its missiles

  Taking chunks

  Big bites out

  Of it.

  War’s

  Leftover

  Gunk

  Seeps

  Like

  Saliva

  Into

  The

  Ground.

  It

  Is finding

  Its

  Way

  Into the

  Village

  Well.

  War tastes terrible

  & smells

  Bad. It never

  Considers

  Body

  Odor

  Or

  Weird

  Side

  Effects.

  When added

  To water

  It makes

  You sick

  Sip by sip.

  You could die

  While

  Choking

  Holding

  Your

  Nose.

  Now, suppose You

  Become War.

  It happens

  To some of

  The nicest

  People

  On earth:

  & one day

  You have

  To drink

  The

  Water

  In this place.

  The Award

  The Award

  Though not

  A contest

  Life

  Is

  The award

  & we

  Have

  Won.

  Though We May Feel Alone

  Though we may feel

  Alone

  We never

  Really are.

  The ancestors

  The one called

  God

  The one called

  Death

  Prominent

  Among them

  Rest on our

  Shoulders

  Always.

  It is as if

  We carried two

  Birds’ nests

  Just below

  Our ears;

  In these

  Like so many eggs

  The ancestors

  Sit.

  They ride along

  Overhearing

  Every conversation

  Every

  Thought

  Watching everything

  We do.

  Fragile as eggs

  But tough

  Cookies

  Too

  It does not matter

  To them

  If we lose our

  Way

  On occasion

  That we become

  Lost

  Or fall down.

  Missteps are

  Common

  On every path

  They’ve seen

  (& they’ve seen lots!).

  What matters to them

  Is that

  We right ourselves

  Keep a better watch

  Over where we’re going

  That they retain

  The high view

  They like

  & what is most

  Crucial

  For helping us:

  Balance.

  When We Let Spirit Lead Us

  When we let Spirit

  Lead us

  It is impossible

  To know

  Where

  We are being led.

  All we know

  All we can believe

  All we can hope

  Is that

  We are going

  Home

  That wherever

  Spirit

  Takes us

  Is where

  We

  Live.

  Dream

  Sometimes

  When I dream

  About

  My mother

  She is in

  One of the

  Shacks

  Her art

  Made

  Radiant.

  She might

  Be lying

  All in pink

  Just

  In

  The doorway

  Sunlight

  Warm

  Upon her

  Singing.

  In Life,

  A Methodist

  Then an

  Atonal

  Jehovah’s

  Witness

  My mother

  Did not

  Sing.

  At least

  Not the

  Subversive


  Jazzy

  Melodies

  She favors

  In

  My

  Dream.

  On my altar

  For years

  Two women’s

  Framed

  Faces

  Have inspired

  Challenged

  Nourished me

  In every way:

  (Although I had not noticed, before my dream, their

  resemblance, as close as twins.)

  One contained

  Righteous

  In her garden

  My mother;

  The other an Outlaw

  In a smoky

  Nightclub

  Lady Day.

  We Are All So Busy

  We are all so busy.

  We say: I am on fire

  To see you

  But next week

  I’ll be away

  In Boston

  & the

  Week after that

  I have

  An important

  Meeting

  In Kalamazoo.

  Ah, Kalamazoo.

  A place

  I spend

  Far

  Too much

  Time in

  Myself.

  The Backyard, Careyes

  The Backyard, Careyes

  Autumn 2001

  Lying grateful

  Under a tree

  Wind blows.

  Yellow leaves

  Cover me.

  Gold

  Leaf shower.

  Practice

  Though

  Like you

  I am awake

  At least

  Some

  Of the

  Time

  Deep

  Slumber is far

  From

  Unknown

  I am

  A

  Practicing

  Alice.

  Dreaming the New World in Careyes

  Every night

  While

  I dream

  The New World

  Right next door

  All night long

  A raucous

  Gathering

  Of idle

  White

  Men

  Is intensely

  Partying.

  Their music

  So loud

  It more than

  Hurts

  My ears

  It wounds

  My heart.

  Their cries of pleasure

  So disdainful

  Of my

  Comfort

  I pull the covers

  Over my

  Head.

  They do not listen

  When I advise

  Stopping. They do not want

  To acknowledge

  I am

  The shadow

  That has always

  Lived

  Next door.

  The changes in

  The world

  They sense

  Rather

  Than know. Yet they

  & we

  The dreamers

  Are real.

  Much of earth

  Is enduring

  This sleepless

  Night.

  The night

  Of our

  Transition.

  Of bitter

  Revelers, even their play

  Turned to war—if only against

  Their scribbling, sleepless

  Neighbor—

  Unhappy

  But

  Determined

  To disrupt

  The dream

  Of peace.

  Patriot

  If you

  Want to show

  Your love

  For America

  Love

  Americans

  Smile

  When you see

  One

  Flowerlike

  His

  Turban

  Rosepink.

  Rejoice

  At the

  Eagle feather

  In a grandfather’s

  Braid.

  If a sister

  Bus rider’s hair

  Is

  Especially

  Nappy

  A miracle

  In itself

  Praise it.

  How can there be

  Homeless

  In a land

  So crammed

  With houses

  &

  Young children

  Sold

  As sex snacks

  Causing our thoughts

  To flinch &

  Snag?

  Love your country

  By loving

  Americans.

  Love Americans.

  Salute the soul

  & the body

  Of who we

  Spectacularly &

  Sometimes

  Pitifully are.

  Love us. We are

  The flag.

  Because Light Is Attracted to Dark

  Because light is attracted

  To dark

  As dark is

  To light

  Let’s face

  It

  You’re

  Fucked.

  What can I tell

  You

  Lie back

  Enjoy it.

  You’re about

  To lose

  That lockpicker

  Nose

  You

  Always

  Hated

  The predator

  Eyes

  The

  Stringy

  Hair

  You’re always

  Shaking out

  In mixed

  Company

  To reassure

  Yourself.

  About

  To lose

  The

  Unbecoming

  Tendency

  To strut into

  Other peoples’

  Lands

  Claim

  Everything

  As your

  Own

  Except

  The sweetness

  Of dark

  Angels

  Welcoming

  You

  Home.

  When Fidel Comes to Visit Me

  When Fidel Comes to Visit Me

  Usually

  When Fidel comes

  To visit me

  He helps with all the household

  Chores. I am surprised and not surprised

  To see him so at home

  In my kitchen

  Sweeping or mopping

  The floor

  Doing laundry and worrying

  Out offensive smells

  Lurking

  In my refrigerador.

  Sometimes he looks more like Ortega

  Than like himself:

  How do you make yourself

  So short I ask

  And brown

  As well?

  He shrugs. So tall responding

  To this question

  The tops of his shoulders

  Are out of sight.

  In my dreams I am an average size

  And so I was last night.

  Once again Fidel appeared

  This time gray & much

  Fatigued.

  I put him and his aide

  Who looked as tired as he

  To bed at once. And I began

  To sweep my house, mop my kitchen

  Floor, clear my refrigerator

  And pantry too

  Of all unpleasantness.

  While I was doing this

  They slept.

  And then

  Just as I stood aside

  Admiring my handiwork

  (I had waxed and polished all the

  Furniture & cooked paella as well!)

  The two of them appeared:

  The aide relaxed, and seeming

  Somew
hat

  Fatter.

  Fidel refreshed, looking about

  For the gifts he’d

  Brought as he’d staggered

  Upon my porch

  A night and a day

  Ago;

  Grinning

  Showing all his teeth

  Which seemed to be

  All there

  & wanting to dance.

  In dreams it is said missing teeth signify loss of dignity or “face.” It is said Fidel cannot dance.

  No Better Life

  There is no better life

  Than this

  To let the good-looking

  Gardener

  Go home

  Early

  To his wife

  & New baby.

  To lie

  On the blue couch

  Recuperating

  From a

  Just

  Battle.

  To be full

  Of soup

  Cooked

  By a friend.

  Someone Should Have Taught You This

  (Tenacatita Beach, Mexico)

  When the vendor

  Looks

  Exhausted

  & her skin

  Is bad

  When her body staggers

  Stunted

  By years of

  Dragging

  Somebody else’s

  Tawdry wares

  Across

  The sand

  When her children

  & she herself

  Appear more

  Shrunken

  Each time

  You see

  Them

  And the conquistador’s

  Mother Hubbard

  Sets her apart

  From all

  Educational

  Medical

  Or

  Even

  Nutritional

  Pursuits

  When her very

  Eyeballs

  Shriek

  Of injustice

  & their

  Whites

  Are flushed

  With blood

  When you know

  She has

  Been on

  Her feet

  500 years

  You should also know

  Though greedy

  To buy worthless

  Trinkets

  At half price

  That

  Today is

  No time

  To bargain.

  Dream of Frida Kahlo

  It was big.

  It was a sea

  Of shit.

  Neither she

  Nor I

  Had any notion

  What to do

  With

  It.

  Our mothers came.

  One resourceful

  The other

  Stout

  & using

  Just

  Their thoughts