Blues

I am lazy, the laziest
girl in the world. I sleep during
the day when I want to, 'til
my face is creased and swollen,
'til my lips are dry and hot. I
eat as I please: cookies and milk
after lunch, butter and sour cream
on my baked potato, foods that
slothful people eat, that turn
yellow and opaque beneath the skin.
Sometimes come dinnertime Sunday
I am still in my nightgown, the one
with the lace trim listing because
I have not mended it. Many days
I do not exercise, only
consider it, then rub my curdy
belly and lie down. Even
my poems are lazy. I use
syllabics instead of iambs,
prefer slant to the gong of full rhyme,
write briefly while others go
for pages. And yesterday,
for example, I did not work at all!
I got in my car and I drove
to factory outlet stores, purchased
stockings and panties and socks
with my father's money.

To think, in childhood I missed only
one day of school per year. I went
to ballet class four days a week
at four-forty-five and on
Saturdays, beginning always
with plie, ending with curtsy.
To think, I knew only industry,
the industry of my race
and of immigrants, the radio
tuned always to the station
that said, Line up your summer
job months in advance. Work hard
and do not shame your family,
who worked hard to give you what you have.
There is no sin but sloth. Burn
to a wick and keep moving.


I avoided sleep for years,
up at night replaying
evening news stories about
nearby jailbreaks, fat people
who ate fried chicken and woke up
dead. In sleep I am looking
for poems in the shape of open
V's of birds flying in formation,
or open arms saying, I forgive you, all.

America

Where the wings of a sunny Dome expand
I saw a Banner in gladsome air-
Starry, like Berenice's Hair-
Afloat in broadened bravery there;
With undulating long-drawn flow,
As rolled Brazilian billows go
Voluminously o'er the Line.
The Land reposed in peace below;
 The children in their glee
Were folded to the exulting heart
 Of young Maternity.

II

Later, and it streamed in fight
 When tempest mingled with the fray,
And over the spear-point of the shaft
 I saw the ambiguous lightning play.
Valor with Valor strove, and died:
Fierce was Despair, and cruel was Pride;
And the lorn Mother speechless stood,
Pale at the fury of her brood.


III

Yet later, and the silk did wind
 Her fair cold for;
Little availed the shining shroud,
 Though ruddy in hue, to cheer or warm
A watcher looked upon her low, and said-
She sleeps, but sleeps, she is not dead.
 But in that sleep contortion showed
The terror of the vision there-
 A silent vision unavowed,
Revealing earth's foundation bare,
 And Gorgon in her hidden place.
It was a thing of fear to see
 So foul a dream upon so fair a face,
And the dreamer lying in that starry shroud.

IV

But from the trance she sudden broke-
 The trance, or death into promoted life;
At her feet a shivered yoke,
And in her aspect turned to heaven
 No trace of passion or of strife-
A clear calm look. It spake of pain,
But such as purifies from stain-
Sharp pangs that never come again-
 And triumph repressed by knowledge meet,
Power delicate, and hope grown wise,
 And youth matured for age's seat-
Law on her brow and empire in her eyes.
 So she, with graver air and lifted flag;
While the shadow, chased by light,
Fled along the far-brawn height,


Where the wings of a sunny Dome expand
I saw a Banner in gladsome air-
Starry, like Berenice's Hair-
Afloat in broadened bravery there;
With undulating long-drawn flow,
As rolled Brazilian billows go
Voluminously o'er the Line.
The Land reposed in peace below;
 The children in their glee
Were folded to the exulting heart
 Of young Maternity.

II

Later, and it streamed in fight
 When tempest mingled with the fray,
And over the spear-point of the shaft
 I saw the ambiguous lightning play.
Valor with Valor strove, and died:
Fierce was Despair, and cruel was Pride;
And the lorn Mother speechless stood,
Pale at the fury of her brood.


III

Yet later, and the silk did wind
 Her fair cold for;
Little availed the shining shroud,
 Though ruddy in hue, to cheer or warm
A watcher looked upon her low, and said-
She sleeps, but sleeps, she is not dead.
 But in that sleep contortion showed
The terror of the vision there-
 A silent vision unavowed,
Revealing earth's foundation bare,
 And Gorgon in her hidden place.
It was a thing of fear to see
 So foul a dream upon so fair a face,
And the dreamer lying in that starry shroud.

IV

But from the trance she sudden broke-
 The trance, or death into promoted life;
At her feet a shivered yoke,
And in her aspect turned to heaven
 No trace of passion or of strife-
A clear calm look. It spake of pain,
But such as purifies from stain-
Sharp pangs that never come again-
 And triumph repressed by knowledge meet,
Power delicate, and hope grown wise,
 And youth matured for age's seat-
Law on her brow and empire in her eyes.
 So she, with graver air and lifted flag;
While the shadow, chased by light,
Fled along the far-brawn height,


Where the wings of a sunny Dome expand
I saw a Banner in gladsome air-
Starry, like Berenice's Hair-
Afloat in broadened bravery there;
With undulating long-drawn flow,
As rolled Brazilian billows go
Voluminously o'er the Line.
The Land reposed in peace below;
 The children in their glee
Were folded to the exulting heart
 Of young Maternity.

II

Later, and it streamed in fight
 When tempest mingled with the fray,
And over the spear-point of the shaft
 I saw the ambiguous lightning play.
Valor with Valor strove, and died:
Fierce was Despair, and cruel was Pride;
And the lorn Mother speechless stood,
Pale at the fury of her brood.


III

Yet later, and the silk did wind
 Her fair cold for;
Little availed the shining shroud,
 Though ruddy in hue, to cheer or warm
A watcher looked upon her low, and said-
She sleeps, but sleeps, she is not dead.
 But in that sleep contortion showed
The terror of the vision there-
 A silent vision unavowed,
Revealing earth's foundation bare,
 And Gorgon in her hidden place.
It was a thing of fear to see
 So foul a dream upon so fair a face,
And the dreamer lying in that starry shroud.

IV

But from the trance she sudden broke-
 The trance, or death into promoted life;
At her feet a shivered yoke,
And in her aspect turned to heaven
 No trace of passion or of strife-
A clear calm look. It spake of pain,
But such as purifies from stain-
Sharp pangs that never come again-
 And triumph repressed by knowledge meet,
Power delicate, and hope grown wise,
 And youth matured for age's seat-
Law on her brow and empire in her eyes.
 So she, with graver air and lifted flag;
While the shadow, chased by light,
Fled along the far-brawn height,
 And left her on the crag.  And left her on the crag.  And left her on the crag.