world reflected in the round
belly of the teakettle, silver
pressed smooth, funhouse
mirror of the kitchen shining back
to show patterned tea towels,
a map of names, the coats of
arms slickpolished by the
blood of many battles
as she stands,
slippershod, combing out tangles
before the gold circled
mirror, a face to meet the
faces she will meet, the
lips stained red (the stockings
stretched to the breaking point
by thin elastics snapped
against her thighs....)
and such is life squared by
five, five by five, the
green zone leafed over by
newly sprouted trees,
canopied green, blessed shade in
August
...
the furniture was moved out
a week before the
night of the great conflagration
(how the sparks flew up,
how the flames were reflected
in his eyes...)
flowers primly border the trees
hemmed in by grey squared stones
meters yield up their tinkling
cache of coins
as the window-washer promises
a streak-free shine
the deliveries of flour and
cabbages, fresh fish, too are
made to cool basements
she takes the fruit, ripening fast,
and places it in a
dish, her sole poor offering
going unclaimed, unwanted
...
she is in charge of the
charnel house, the bones
are heaped up, sunbleached,
stripped of their meat, the
scraps scraped from a plate
into the black garbage bag,
bulging, larval, with all our
waste
ennumerating now, one, on a
paper towel--
the truth in certain nursery
rhymes--pudding and pie gorged,
she goes to bed with a sick
stomach
two--that the sun also rises in
Coventry--and the birds there sing
as sweetly
Asleep, now, she dreams of a
Mouth full of ashes--
Doubtless, she has had her fill of
Grasping memories by the neck, but will wring some warmth from them yet.....
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