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1933
My father entered the kingdom of roots
his head as still as a stone
(Laid out in black with a white tie
he blinked
and I told no one
except myself over and over)
laid out long and gray
The hands that stroked my head
the voice in the dark asking
he drove the car all the way to the river
where the ships burned
he rang with keys and coins
he knew the animals and their names
touched the nose of the horse
and kicked the German dog away
he brought Ray Estrada from Mexico in his 16th year
scolded him like a boy, gave him beer money
and commanded him to lift and push
he answered to the name father
he left in October without his hat
who my mother later said was not much at love
who answered to the name Father
Father, the world is different in many places
the old Ford Trimotors are gone to scrap
the Terraplane turned to snow
four armies passed over your birthplace
your house is gone
all your tall sisters gone
your fathers
everyone
Roosevelt ran again
you would still be afraid
You would not know me now, I have a son taller than you
I feel the first night winds catch in the almond
the plum bend
and I go in afraid of the death you are
I climb the tree in the vacant lot
and leave the fruit untasted
I stare at the secrets, the small new breasts
the sparse muff where no one lives
I blink the cold winds in from the sea
walking with Teddy, my little one
squeezing his hand I feel his death
I find the glacier and wash my face in Arctic dust
I shit handfuls of earth
I stand in the spring river pissing at stars
I see the diamond back at the end of the path
hissing and rattling
and will not shoot
The sun is gone, the moon is a slice of hope
the stars are burned eyes that see
the wind is the breath of the ocean
the death of the fish is the allegory
you slice it open and spill the entrails
you remove the spine
the architecture of the breast
you slap it home
the oils snap and sizzle
you live in the world
you eat all the unknown deeps
the great sea oaks rise from the floor
the bears dip their claws in clear streams
they hug their great matted coats
and laugh in the voices of girls
a man drops slowly like brandy or glue
In the cities of the world
the streets darken with flies
all the dead fathers fall out of heaven
and begin again
the angel of creation is a sparrow in the roadway
a million ducks out of Ecuador with the names of cities
settle on the wires
storks rise slowly pulling the houses after them
butterflies eat away the eyes of the sun
the last ashes off the fire of the brain
the last leavening of snow
grains of dirt torn from under fingernails and eyes
you drink these
There is the last darkness burning itself to death
there are nine women come in the dawn with pitchers
there is my mother
a dark child in the schoolyard
miles from anyone
she has begun to bleed as her mother did
there is my brother, the first born, the mild one
his cold breath fogging the bombsight
there is the other in his LTD
he talks to the phone, he strokes his thighs
he dismisses me
my mother waits for the horsecart to pass
my mother prays to become fat and wise
the cat dies and it rains
the dog groans by the side door
the old hen flies up in a spasm of gold
My woman gets out of bed in the dark and washes her face
she goes to the kitchen before we waken
she picks up a skillet, an egg
(I dream:
a man sets out on an innertube to Paris
coming back from dying "the ride aint bad a tall")
the kids go off to school without socks
in the rain the worms come out to live
my father opens the telegram under the moon
Cousin Philip is dead
my father stands on the porch in his last summer
he holds back his tears
he holds back my tears
Once in childhood the stars held still all night
the moon swelled like a plum but white and silken
the last train from Chicago howled through the ghetto
I came downstairs
my father sat writing in a great black book
a pile of letters
a pile of checks
(he would pay his debts)
the moon would die
the stars jelly
the sea freeze
I would be a boy in worn shoes splashing through the rain
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