#AmericanWriters
Little egg, little nub, full complement of fingers, toes, little rose blooming
People who live by the sea understand eternity. They copy the curves of the waves, their hearts beat with the tides, & the saltiness of their blood
Is God the one who eats the meat off the bones of dead people? —Molly Miranda Jong—Fast, age 3… God is the one, Molly,
I put our books face to face so they could talk. They whispered about us. I put yours on top of mine. They would not mate.
On the first night of the full moon, the primeval sack of ocean broke, & I gave birth to you
Unable to bear the uncertainty of the future, we consulted seers, mediums, stock market gurus,
She left him in death’s egg, the bone sack & the gunny sack… the bag of down & feathers-all… Somehow he couldn’t get back. It was night,
And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy. —William Blake Because I would not admit that I had nurtured
Nature will bear the closest inspe… —Thoreau The raspberries in my driveway have always
The whole world is flat & I am round. Even women avert their eyes, & men, embarrassed by the messy way
My love is too much– it embarrasses you– blood, poems, babies, red needs that telephone from foreign countries,
Meathooks, notebooks, the whole city sky palely flaming & spectral bombs hitting that patch of river I see from my eastern window.
I sit in the black leather chair meditating on the plume of smoke that rises in the air, riffling the pages of my life
When I am an old lady the young men will come to me & sit trembling at my trembling
If it is only for the taking off– the velvet cloak, the ostrich feather boa, the dress which slithers to the fl… with the sound of strange men sigh…