He lived — childhood summers
thru bare feet
then years of money’ s lack
and heat
beside the river — out of flood
came his wood, dog,
woman, lost her, daughter —
prologue
to planting trees. He buried carp
beneath the rose
where grass-still
the marsh rail goes.
I married
in the world’ s black night
for warmth
if not repose.
At the close —
someone.
I hid with him
from the long range guns.
We lay leg
in the cupboard, head
in closet.
A slit of light
at no bird dawn —
Untaught
I thought
he drank
Mr. Van Ess bought 14 washcloths?
Fourteen washrags, Ed Van Ess?
Must be going to give em
to the church, I guess.
He drinks, you know. The day we moved
he came into the kitchen stewed,
mixed things up for my sister Grace —
put the spices in the wrong place.
My mother saw the green tree toad
on the window sill
her first one
since she was young.
We saw it breathe
and swell up round.
My youth is no sure sign
I’ ll find this kind of thing
tho it does sing.
Let’ s take it in
I said so grandmother can see
but she could not
it changed to brown
and town
changed us, too.
The wild and wavy event
now chintz at the window
was revolution...
Adams
to Miss Abigail Smith:
You have faults
You hang your head down
like a bulrush
you read, you write, you think
but I drink Madeira
to you
and you cross your Leggs
while sitting.
(Later:)
How are the children?
If in danger run to the woods.
Evergreen o evergreen
how faithful are your branches.
What horror to awake at night
and in the dimness see the light.
Time is white
mosquitoes bite
I’ ve spent my life on nothing.
The thought that stings. How are you, Nothing,
sitting around with Something’ s wife.
Buzz and burn
is all I learn
I’ ve spent my life on nothing.
