maybes_smashing

BRASS FURNACE GOING OUT: Song, after an Abortion
by Diane di Prima

I

to say I failed, that is walked out
and into the arctic
     How shd I know where I was ?
A man chants in the courtyard
     the window is open
someone else drops a pecan pie
     into the yard
two dogs down there play trumpet
     there is something disturbed
about the melody.

and what of the three year old girl who poisoned her mother ?
that happens, it isn't just us, as you can see --
what you took with you when you left
remains to be seen.

II

I want you in a bottle to send to your father
with a long bitter note.I want him to know
I'll not forgive you, or him for not being born
for drying up, quitting
     at the first harsh treatment
as if the whole thing were a rent party
& somebody stepped in your feet

III

send me your address a picture, I want to
keep in touch, I want to know how you
are, to send you cookies.

do you have enough sweaters, is the winter bad,
do you know what I've done, what I'm doing
do you care
write in detail of your day, what time you get up,
what you are studying,when you expect
to finish & what you will do.
is it chilly?

IV

your face dissolving in water, like wet clay
washed away, like a rotten water lily
rats on the riverbank barking at the sight
do they swim ?
the trees here walk right down to the edge
conversing
your body sank, a good way back
I hear the otters will bring it to the surface

and the wailing mosquitoes even stop to examine
the last melting details of eyelid & cheeckbone
the stagnant blood
who taught you not to tangle your hair in the seaweed
to disappear with finesse

the lion pads
     along the difficult path
in the heart of the jungle
and comes to the riverbank
he paws your face
I wish he would drink it up
in that strong gut it would come
to life.
     but he waits till he floats
a distance
     drinks clean water
dances a little
     starts the long walk
again

     the silent giraffe lets loose
a mourning cry
     fish surface
     your mouth and the end of your nose
disappear.

the water was cold the day you slipped into the river
wind ruffled the surface, I carried you on my back
a good distance, then you slipped in
red ants started up my leg & changed their minds
I fed my eyeballs to a carnivorous snake
& chained myself to a tree to await your end.
your face no sooner dissolved than I thought I saw
a kneecap sticking up where the current is strongest
a turtle
     older than stars
walked on your bones

V

who forged this night, what steel
clamps down?
like gray pajamas on an invalid
if I knew the name of flowers, the habits
of quadrupeds, the 13 points of the compass ......
an aged mapmaker who lived on this street
just succumbed to rheumatism

I have cut the shroud to measure
     bought the stone
a plot in the cemetery set aside
     to bury your shadow
take your head & go!
& may the woman that you find know better
than talk to me about it

VI

your goddamned belly rotten, a home for flies.
blown out & stinking, the maggots curling your hair
your useless neverused cock, the pitiful skull
the pitiful shell of a skull, dumped in the toilet
the violet, translucent folds
     of beginning life

VII

what is that I cannot bear to say ?
that if you had turned out mad, a murderer
a junkie pimp hanged & burning in lime
     alone & filled w/the rotting dark
if you'd been frail and a little given to weirdness
or starved or been shot, or tortured in hunger camps
it wd have been frolic & triumph compared to this --

I cant even cry for you, I cant hang on
that long

VIII

forgive, forgive
that the cosmic waters do not turn from me
that I should not die of thirst

IX

oranges & jade at the shrine
my footprints
wet on the stone
the bells in that clear air
wind from the sea
your shadow
flat on the flat rocks
the priestess (sybil)
spelling your name
crying out, behind copper doors
giving birth
atone
     silence, the air
moving outside
the door to the temple blowing on its hinges
thet was the spirit she said
it passed above you

the branch I carry home is mistletoe
& walk backwards, with my eyes on the sea

X

here in my room I sit at drawing table
as I have sat all day, or walked
from drawing table to bed,
or stopped at window
considering the things to be done
weighing them in the hand and putting them down
hung up as the young Rilke.
here in my room all day on my couch a stranger
who does not speak
who does not take his eyes
off me as I walk & walk from table to bed.

and I cannot stop thinking I would be three months pregnant
we would be well out of here & in the sun
even the telephone would be polite
we would laugh a lot, in the morning.

XI

your ivory teeth in the half light
your arms
flailing about.that is you
age 9 months
     sitting up & trying to stand
cutting teeth.
     your diaper trailing, a formality
elegant as a loincloth, the sweet stench
of babyshit in the house: the oil
rubbed into your hair.
blue off the moon your ghostshape
     mistaken as brken tooth
your flesh rejected
     never to grow - your hands
that should have closed around my finger
what moonlight
     will play in your hair ?
I mean to say
     dear fish, I hope you swim

in another river.
I hope that wasn't
rebuttal, but a transfer, an attempt
that failed, but to be followed
     quickly by another
suck your thumb somewhere
Dear silly thing, explode
make someone's colors.

the senses (five)
     a gift
to hear,see , touch, choke on & love
this life
the rotten globe
to walk in shoes
what apple doesnt get
     at least this much ?

a caramel candy sticking in your teeth
you, age three
bugged
     bearing down on a sliding pond.
your pulled tooth in my hand
     (age six)
your hair with clay in it,
     your goddamn grin

XII

sun on the green plants, your prattle
among the vines.
that this possibility is closed to us.
my house is small, my windows look out on grey courtyard
there is no view of the sea.
will you come here again ? I will entertain you
as well as I can - I will make you comfortable
in spite of new york .

will
you
come here
again

my breasts prepare
to feed you: they do what they can

----

Song for Baby-O, Unborn

Sweetheart
when you break thru
you'll find
a poet here
not quite what one would choose.

I won't promise
you'll never go hungry
or that you won't be sad
on this gutted
breaking
globe

but I can show you
baby
enough to love
to break your heart
forever