The Weakness
That time my grandmother dragged me through the perfume aisles at Saks, she held me up by my arm, hissing, "Stand up,"through clenched teeth, her eyes bright as a dog's cornered in the light. She said it over and over, as if she were Jesus, and I were dead.She had been solid as a tree, a fur around her neck, a light-skinned matron whose car was parked, who walked on swirling marble and passed throughbrass openings--in 1945.There was not even a black elevator operator at Saks. The saleswoman had brought velvet leggings to lace me in, and cooed, as if in service of all grandmothers. My grandmother had smiled, but not hungrily, not like my mother who hated them, but wanted to please, and they had smiled back, as if they were wearing wooden collars. When my legs gave out, my grandmother dragged me up and held me like God holds saints by the roots of the hair.I begged herto believe I couldn't help it.Stumbling,her face white with sweat, she pushed me through the crowd, rushing away from those eyes that saw through her clothes, under herskin, all the way down to the transparent genes confessing. http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/family-secrets-2/ |
Family Secrets
They told my cousin Rowena not to marry Calvin―she was too young, just eighteen,& he was too dark, too too dark, as if he had been washed in what we wanted to wipe off our hands. Besides, he didn't come from a good family. He said he was going to be a lawyer, but we didn't quite believe. The night they eloped to the Gotham Hotel, the whole house whispered―as if we were ashamed to tell it to ourselves. My aunt and uncle rushed down to the Gotham to plead― we couldn't imagine his hands on her! Families are conceived in many ways. The night my cousin Calvin lay down on her, that idol with its gold skin broke, & many of the gods we loved in secret were freed. http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-weakness/ |
From a Letter: About Snow
for Chana Bloch I am at a retreat house, and the nun who runs the house told me to look at my face in the mirror. I did, but the only thing I keep seeing is the face of Snow, the huge Pyrenees sheep dog. He's so frightened, they can't let him off his leash! His human eyes, long-suffering, like a saint who's forgotten how to smile. I hear the breed is naturally shy, and this one was abused by his previous owner. No wonder he backs away! But to see a creature so large―120 pounds―so timid. Once, they say, scared by a deer, he broke his leash and ran. A mile away a woman stopped with her pickup and he jumped right in! Who knows why the frightened make decisions! Today I jogged with him, his thick rangy self leading the way. Now we're sitting in the shade by the community house while I write this letter. http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/from-a-letter-about-snow/ |