The war moves closer and we can't stop it.
Four million marched in Rome and London.
We read our poems on a Woodstock stage.
Winter goes on forever.

Four million marched in Rome and London.
A few lay down in snow in Antarctica.
Winter goes on forever.
My computer won't let me fax Washington.

A few lay down in snow in Antarctica.
In New York City, they brought in the horses.
My computer won't let me fax Washington.
A voice on the radio is insistent.

In New York City, they brought in the horses.
My love, my friend, and I held hands.
A voice on the radio is insistent,
cutting through logic like bullets.

My love, my friend, and I held hands.
We stopped for coffee.  We reached the rally.
Cutting through logic like bullets,
the Mayor of New York praised the Police Force.

We stopped for coffee.  We reached the rally.
We phoned our senators; we wore our buttons.
The Mayor of New York praised the Police Force.
The President says, "No more chances."

We phone our senators; we wear peace buttons.
Bombs are dropping on Mesopotamia.
The President says, "No more chances."
Our car is wet and won't start.

Bombs are dropping on Mesopotamia.
Anxiety sags like snow on our roof.
Our car is wet and won't start.
The President says, "We don't need the world."
Anxiety sags like snow on the roof.
I call the number; the line is jammed.
The President says, "We don't need the world."
The war moves closer.  We try to stop it.

My President wants to shatter my leg into eleven hundred pieces.
My newborn daughter's hands are too small to pick up the parts.
My President wants to rearrange them all and tell me that they fit.
My newborn daughter can't fit square pegs into round holes.

My President tells me lies that suit him and swaggers like a drunk.
My newborn daughter tells me the truth of suckling fever and sways like grass in wind.
My President wants to break into my home and dust for prints.
My newborn daughter's fingers are tiny as dew and she hasn't touched a thing.

My President says he is accomplishing missions and setting the world straight.
My newborn daughter says nothing and knows nothing of the world.
She wants only a little, but she wants it with all she has.
Everyday she is the same, only more so.

My President says anything: that we will be safer if we trust him,
That we should twist the axis a little further in his direction.
He seems to want everything, regardless of what he has.
Everyday he is the same, only more so.

I can't tell what she wants, except to watch her suckle,
I can't tell what he wants, except to watch him take.

It's numbing how short time is.

I imagine my President as a newborn at 1 month or 2
Sucking nipples, soiling diapers.
I imagine my newborn daughter as President,
Leading nations, bringing peace.

They say I can vote in November.

Why do you spend all your time by the mirror?
You could come back as a little boy
Why don't you come and sit down by my window
There's a truck outside and about a thousand leaves

Elephant, you pass.
        The ground sinks.
You see the bush, you see the shadow
    In the shadow is a man
You do not see him
A man reaching
    does not reach as far as your teeth
yet this man will pierce your belly
for this one must take your meat
I wait beside the track
    you will pass again
I must slip between your great feet
    to open your belly
Your blood will dry brown on
            my chest
while I listen from the forest
you will tear the bushes
and drag your intestines
I have taken the fat meat
    of your brothers, elephant -
and you have crushed the head bones
    of my kinsmen
Tonight we will lick up your fat
                and dance
singing your name
Tonight women will weep
            and no one will eat
I trust in the loins of my father
I trust in the milk of my mother
I trust in my long-handled killing
                  tooth
Elephant, you pass.

Let me in.

North Carolinian crickets.  Vodka muffled voice.

A simple turn of the wrist.
Locked out.  Locked in.

Eight years raised on tiptoes, peering out on the familiar mess.
Front porch - heaving, sweating, rumpled, rough.

Heave - Let me in - Heave

He's sick Momma.

Back turns.  Broken bottle.  Spirits broken.
Heels drag through shards of glass on the kitchen floor.

Pick it up.

Pick me up.  I can't see him now.
He's sick Momma.  Let me in.
Shoo boy.  Go get some shoes on.  This place's a minefield.

Eight years raised on raised voices.
Scurrying to the door.  Simple turn of the wrist.
Summer scents.  Grass.  Sweat.  Vodka.  Vomit.

Hesitation.  Circling.  Avoiding memories' hands.
(simple turn of the wrist.  Slap.)
(simple turn of the wrist.  Slap.)

He's sick Momma.
Don't I know it.  Get him upstairs yourself.

Garden hose tangled in the high grass.
Warning rattlers.  Stay away.
Cool water - running - away.
Vodka washed - seeping - away.
Feeding the house.

A simple turn of the wrist.
Momma?  Let me in.

On Fishing Flats Road
the flats aren't gone but they don't call it that anymore
most people driving by do not stop to
cast their rods like they used to
but the fish still know how to get here
the old road still limns the cove.
Under sycamore and hophornbeam we paddle to
the old wagon cuts show
softened by grass, by bittersweet
and a chance up to the Piggery
where the old red barn's black loam is
and the frieze's raked gable ends are carved, and steep
here, in between the lilacs and river glass sharp at our feet
here, between the getaway irises and a rusty bucket
overgrown with myrtle and ivy
here comes the train rushing through
blowing my hair all over you

We wake up.
I bite your fat for fun.
You might as well trust me
when I pull a long black hat out of nowhere.
Do my dark tricks scare you
or have you already seen my bluff?
I lost my pants.
You pull them out of another dimension.
They were in the dryer.
See how you fool me every time?
Lunch is a depression.
Limp sandwich meat on stale bread.
I run away when the sandwich begins to speak to me.
You find me hours later in the forest.
I am hiding behind a pinecone
with a tree whip as my only weapon.
My red blanket becomes a cold plate of noodles once more.