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One Step Down From Here |
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The day rises a rosy- |
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fingered virgin falls |
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an old man gold-hued |
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hems sweeping |
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the horizon |
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What the natives |
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recite in these |
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coastal towns their |
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sexual rituals their |
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secret recipes I take |
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notes in the margins |
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of a book by an |
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alcoholic writer |
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They wear their |
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horns all soft |
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and raw taut to the |
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foot of a strangled |
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bed Forsooth to soothe |
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The soot settles |
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on the tomatoes obscene |
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and the obscene figs |
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We spent fifty |
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one months of |
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crying dust and |
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sleeplessness I’d |
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like to take all |
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those days the ones |
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spun into fine |
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threads of gold |
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reel them back |
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wind them into |
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a ball beat the ball |
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into a coin and |
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spend it all |
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before nightfall |
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Pulling out that |
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twin rooted root—my |
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God you never knew |
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it had a human |
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voice This |
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is the first time you |
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heard your mother |
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crying |
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© Lacy Schutz, 2004 |
