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.
With only his dim lantern
To tell him where he is
And every time a mountain
Of fresh corpses to load up
Take them to the other side
Where there are plenty more
I’ d say by now he must be confused
As to which side is which
I’ d say it doesn’ t matter
No one complains he’ s got
Their pockets to go through
In one a crust of bread in another a sausage
How much death works,
No one knows what a long
Day he puts in. The little
Wife always alone
Ironing death’ s laundry.
The beautiful daughters
Setting death’ s supper table.
The neighbors playing
Pinochle in the backyard
Or just sitting on the steps
This strange thing must have crept
Right out of hell.
It resembles a bird’ s foot
Worn around the cannibal’ s neck.
As you hold it in your hand,
As you stab with it into a piece of meat,
It is possible to imagine the rest of the bird:
Its head which like your fist
Is large, bald, beakless, and blind.
They’ re waiting to be murdered,
Or evicted. Soon
They expect to have nothing to eat.
In the meantime, they sit.
A violent pain is coming, they think.
It will start in the heart
And climb into the mouth.
They’ ll be carried off in stretchers, howling.
Tonight they watch the window
Without exchanging a word.
It has rained, and now it looks
Like it’ s going to snow a little.
They explained to me the bloody bandages
On the floor in the maternity ward in Rochester, N. Y.,
Cured the backache I acquired bowing to my old master,
Made me stop putting thumbtacks round my bed.
They showed me an officer on horseback,
Waving a saber next to a burning farmhouse
And a barefoot woman in a nightgown,
Throwing stones after him and calling him Lucifer.
