26 Mar 2005, 9:27pm
Writing
by David


Resections(III);
My Past Your Past a Black-Eyed Susan

Juniper: choose.
I’m off to sleep. I’m without you. (I’m alone)
You’re a ghost. You’re a sibling. You’re a divinity.

(And even the moss grass weight of this can’t take me that way)

How old are you now? I’m not seven, I’m eighty, and I don’t remember it.
Every day is a bottle. I find flowers in the yard and a tire-swing,
children at the head of the stairs. The room to the right is Grandmother’s.
You don’t go in by yourself. The edges will hurt you

sewing needle      broken glass      books       heavy table wardrobe
in the corner      one window      to the right     more books

If this spider spells you you’ll die.
You’re under the highbeams. You’re lighting a match.

                                                      *

The whippoorwill
in the oak             makes Hoo the same sound
as the owl      in the gully             at a point      when you burn it
the privet screams         one syllable      can infect you
with poisonous smoke
the Plymouth     killed the roses
Grandfather said

Before I feed him there is a bad man under the table. Shame
on me.

                                                      *

You know, I can, recite books
lovely
                                                      I know, you can

Genesis Exodus Leviticus                     Numbers
                            Ruth
we all fall down

                    Zechariah Malachi Haggai

First and Second Samuel              First and Second Kings
First and Second Chronicles

                                                  on our choices

                                Ezra
                             Nehemiah
                                  Esther
                                  Job
but can we
                                                       pray?

                               Psalms
                               Proverbs

                                       (I loved watching you come here)

                      Ecclesiastes

                                                      *

Juniper outside the window Bobby came
to check on me He said I didn’t look good He put
some flowers on me not the cheap plastic but real ones
Next year he said he’d bring his notebook and draw again

I think of you now
Which way did you go

after we touched?
Why don’t you                                                     come?

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