My Life
Like Jonas by the fish was I received by it,
swung and swept in its dark waters,
driven to the deeps by
it and beyond many rocks.
Without any touching of its teeth I tumbled into it
and without more struggle than a
mote of dust
entering the door of a cathedral, so muckle were its jaws.
How heel over head was I hurled down
the broad road of its throat, stopped inside
its chest wide as a hall, and like Jonas I stood up
asking where
the beast was and finding it nowhere,
there in grease and sorrow I built my bower.
The Revolution
Remember it was early--we were
still in the dark
slots of the narrow beds, the room twitching and burning
from all night TV--then voices--almost
lively
for this place, I think, unsheathing myself from
the damp
bedding to the cool and cluttered eight-story commotion--a burn
of sound, those voices, a Braille of
noise.
I can't remember what broke the wash of listening,
what turned it (like a boat steered hard into its
own wake) into sight:
one or two floors below us, an answer to your question--
(you are up and beside me now)--what is that? was dragged by--
window, wall, window, wall--locked in the arms
of two men
and trying to bite her way out of their official embrace.
Did I mention--leaning out to put ourselves
into the courtyard
where a spill of images lengthened the view--we stared
at a woman in her nightgown
screaming like something metal opening against its will.
We saw her, then she was disappeared by wall, we saw her
naked feet on the stone. Wind blew this way and that
in
the immense eight-storied square. And these two facts:
Her gown was torn from her. And we stood staring. What could
be done?
There had been trouble, we knew. Betrayals.
Who
was to say she was innocent?
-from Noose and Hook
