Selections from "On Foot, in Flames"
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a Quick Time movie of the poem, Travelers!
Elegy in August
Sleep, little sister, far from pain.
Water smooths out stones in the river
As memory calms the chaos
You left behind. Rest easy, sister,
Your babies are older than you ever were.
Even the stain will fade
When none are left to remember
The calls for help you never made.
After burning, blackberry bushes
Struggle up through ash, and love, resilient,
Blooms in all seasons, even for you
Who suffered and could not tell what was right
As you hurled yourself, suddenly
Spiraling upward to darkness or light.
*
Daughter
--for Jane Mary Katherine
This is the day
You come away
With us, meeting
Face to face
The committee greeting
Your arrival. You rush
From acrobatic sleep
On this the day
Your parents say
Thank God! or words
To that effect.
They are skittish as birds
Of the architect
You spring out of.
Jane, you begin this day
To break away
From your cozy zoo
And our busybody,
Good-intentioned say
About all the things
In store for you.
This is the day,
And this the hour
When all is still
But the rain shower,
And the close-up murmur
Of your parents’ prayer
As you join us there.
*
Emily’s Courtship
The visitor stands at the grave in knee-high snow.
He’s been calling your house since 1962
Asking for you.
Is he a distant or close relation to
That man in Baltimore who annually visits Poe?
Certainly you would know.
And if this man who calls you should break through,
What loneliness, time, and pain must he endure
At your father’s door?
Brushing aside that meddling sister of yours,
He calls upstairs, "Emily, my darling, my dear,
There is nothing to fear!"
Don’t greet him in the frills and curls you acquired late,
Long after the romantics claimed you,
But come down as you
Always were, your hair tucked in a tight bun,
Your limbs loose in a drab, light summer dress
The color of afternoon sun,
The armpits and a flare up the back darkened with sweat
(for you have been sweeping all morning), your shoes
Dusty, impossibly small.
Come down to the parlor, dear, and rest.
Don’t talk around the corner like a ghost,
Or too sly a host;
That ploy worked well enough on Higginson,
And on ancient Wadsworth, so stiff with God
He couldn’t bend.
Do not descend in a cloud of impossible cadences
And punctuation like slaps to the face—this one is yours,
All man and boy, your poetry toy
Who loves your jokes, and your laughter
Like water lapping in Heaven,
Who would take you as you are.
Still you test his devotion, serving him the heavy cake
You made from scratch the night or the half-century?) before;
Your sister returns, the bore.
Sipping bitter tea she claims each word you say,
Or worse, presumes to say them for you.
That just won’t do!
Your caller whispers in her ear, "Get lost! Your sis
and I
Need time alone, comprende?" with your taste for the
exotic,
The far away you’ll never see,
That single, foreign word rings like a wedding bell.
You shoo your flesh and blood away,
If only for a day.
*
Prayer for the Harvest
Tomorrow may we all be light,
Blessed with second sight
That brings the world to us
As children understand it.
The sweet mare in her stall
Will be still enough for all
Of us who whisper our confessions.
Come evening may we sleep all night
In the crooked arm of Mother Time
Where the owl’s vigil calms us,
Where the fox in the harrowed field thrills us.
Tomorrow may we all be right
In every thing we say and do,
Forgiving ourselves our dispositions,
And those who can’t forgive us.
*
Dana, Her Eyes
I want to live in there
Where light is so calm and clear
The moon must have a hand in it;
Where all the locks in my head
Spring open like the jaw set in
The body’s old belief that nothing
As beautiful as long-looking into her eyes
Would ever be its fate; where
Our house, somewhere in a clearing
Opens its rooms of unusual intimacy;
Where spirit-stuff, like the magic dust
Of stars, supercharges sex. Always
I want that oddball sensation, giddy,
Toppling, out of balance for a moment,
Then out of pain for the rest of my life.
*
Prayers That Open Heaven
Of a declaration of faith proclaimed among many,
The congregation rising up in song;
Of a lonesome walk around a muddy pasture,
A lullaby boating children to sleep;
Of the bond between your dog and you,
Of forgiveness for those who burn fields
And break promises, who use their power
To lord it over others, of the ditch you dig
With a neighbor, the piles of leaves you rake,
The barn’s sure bridge to the past;
Of Our Father and Hail Mary,
Of the sight of a solitary rider
In late afternoon sun on the Cascade range,
The horse moving like the motion of God;
Of a sky so full of stars you know you are not alone.
What are the prayers that open Heaven, where
Are the words and guides you should follow?
No one answers, no one lifts up your heart but you.
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