PULLING
UP THE CORNERS
after Linda Gregg
—
said you don't love me. He was sitting
in a flannel chair, the gray behind him hardly
a kind of light. I said
secondhand
love.
Circle
secondhand.
B/c how could I be first?
Not
his fault I couldn't run to keep up
with myself, flying
apart—
On
my chest a ribbon bloomed.
Italicize
honorable for him.
Allow
this parenthetical:
Meanwhile my watch continued
to break and we'd been waiting there how long.
Underline
how long love.
Who is it he loves?
I'm not who I was.
Our breaths quickened as if in a race.
He said don't? but it was a question. Question
the light in the room, the chair, where
I
was standing.
Make
stand bold,
but I wasn't. I broke down. He held
the baby, edge and center of everything.
They
seemed so far away.
Note
the distance between points.
__
BREAD TO CLOCKS
The meaning of clock in dreams runs out
at the end of 21— "The dreamer
may be objecting," it says, then leaves off,
and I object since without the next page
I'm made frozen. Dreamt of, a clock
with hands still is death; with hands racing
is time running (out). The warning of the alarm
is also mentioned, but cuckoo must be
on the page following, and what does bird
mean in dreams, I wonder? Flight, maybe.
To teeter on a cliff signals a spiritual
fall—watch for men named Clifford.
Car is on this page ("see vehicles chapter"—
and I don't have that). Thoughtfully here
they've included catastrophes, cemeteries,
cannibals and certain cards which might mean
death, especially if spades. It's in the cards,
play your cards right. 21 is a carrousel of death
("see merry-go-round"), going around in
circles. Candy could be a warning.
__
LEAVING THE BODY
for Michael (1972-1983)
1.
I won't imagine what I know: surgeons
cracked
your breastbone, found
a heart like a bird's, small,
missing one chamber.
A chamber,
room where the voice hears an echo.
2.
Someone will ask, how many brothers?
I rattle, not knowing
how to count or claim you—
Say
one, that's a lie.
Not
the truth to say two.
But I can't say you're not alive.
3.
Our father sat far in the deep wing chair
and could not speak.
A pail full of water dropped
from an upstairs window. I was awake.
I was asleep. I was asleep.
4.
5.
My arms make a brittle nest
to hold you. Your bones
feel
almost hollow—
I hear a sound in them
like wind. I cover
your mouth with my mouth
to breathe. The family says,
put
him down, put him down.
But then what would I own?
One brother, one
brother
and the fracture
that grows
____
"Pulling Up the Corners" centers
on an intense emotional experience and takes as its model Linda Gregg's
poem "Stuff," in which she repeats the editorial direction "circle":
"Circle that.// Circle facts." The idea was to keep shifting
the angle of perception. Thanks to Kary Wayson for the impetus to write
this.
"Bread to Clocks": One evening I attended The Ruby Group, a
writer's collective, and was handed pp. 20 and 21 of The Dream Dictionary
as an exercise suggestion. Page 20 began with the entry BREAD and 21 ended
with CLOCK. The poem was a gift.
"Leaving the Body" is the oldest poem of the group, one that
I've been working on for literally more than a decade. The event of the
poem is my younger brother's death, and that underwater, dream-like state
of survival following. It's one of the hardest pieces I've ever written,
and one of the hardest to get right. |