HEREDITY

Because he is in history books, I  have always
Believed in my ancestor Aaron; what I've doubted
Were the stories that he could fly 
Or, when in particularly deep thought
Or at prayer, might start floating; his wife
Sewed stones inside the lining of his coat
Lest he pray outside and drift off forever;
(He surely rattled pleasantly when he walked.)
Lately I've begun wondering if I have it wrong
And the flying was real but not Aaron
That I'm semi-fictional must have
A reason. Also, I keep finding in my pockets
Striped stones that no one admits putting there.

USEFUL

The Egyptian Resheph was willing

To play many roles. Thus, he was

Patron of gazelles, curer of plague,

Causer of plague, horseleech, god

Of arrow-makers and god

Of chariots and horses. Exiled 

From the palace he became a brewer,

Popular with ordinary folk.

He once filled in for Apollo in Cyprus 

And marches in a parade in the Bible

Where he also, curiously,

Is one of the grandsons of Ephraim. 

He was the chief god of Atanni, Gunu,

Tunip, Schechem and of one quarter 

Of Ebla. If you build him a shrine 

(You should be building a shrine

To someone if not Resheph) include

Plenty of arrows, horses and bolts

Of vaguely anthropomorphic lightning.

MARGINAL

During a long class on trusts and estates

On October 3, 1974, I wrote 

"Some moons cannot be trusted"

In dark, twisted letters in the margin 

Of a crowded page otherwise devoted 

To explaining the difference between 

Inheritance per stirpes and per capita.

(Should you ask, I can still tell you 

Why per stirpes sounds fair but isn't.)

What could the moon have done to me?

I wasn't, back then, the sort to badmouth

Orbiting scalene ellipsoids for no reason.

ASSEMBLY

First there is a hat

For it we make a head 

So it can rest. The head

Feels foolish 

Floating in midair?

All right; hang the expense!

Buy a neck! Buy shoulders,

Arms, torso, midsection,

Hips, buttocks, legs!

(Feet? Don't pay for feet;

You can find them free.)

What? You want clothes?

What for? You have a hat.

Let me see if I can find

Something we can eat.

DONE

My mother left behind closets

Filled with bedsheets and towels 

And pillowcases, all neatly folded. 

During his years alone my father

Unfolded none of them. Every week

He'd launder and reuse the ones 

She'd put out before she died.

I'm pretty sure he didn't want 

To undo traces of her work since 

He welcomed reminders of her

Also, he must have known he couldn't 

Fold a contour sheet to save his life.

NEITHER NOW NOR THEN

Three in the morning

The machine and I

Have both started

To cheat at solitaire.

Perhaps in Ward Four

Or Room 1425

You’re lying awake.

The uncomfortable chair

Holds your visitor;

She sleeps ungracefully.

From the corridor

Comes the soft click

Of wolf claws.

How hard in such times

To be human!

WHY I DIDN'T SLEEP

There was a year when my best chance 

Of seeing you was to go down 

To the university library's basement

And drink coffee. About every tenth cup

You'd be there. On caffeine and 

The occasional sight of you I lived.

NOT THE NOTES BUT THE SILENCE BETWEEN THEM

It being a Friday night Evil

Was at the piano playing softly 

Management came over, rested

Her hand near the tip jar and said

"This guy Augustine says evil isn't

A thing -- only the absence of good."

"Yep, that's just about the size of it."

"How can absence play the piano?"

"A note here; a few notes there; in time 

It adds up. (You thought I was going to say

'Practice, practice, practice' didn't you?)"

TOMAS MASARYK ON THE MIDWAY (REV.)

Back when I was at the University

The Tomas Masaryk monument

Stood in a field by itself.
Though not a rider, Masaryk

Sat stiffly on a bored bronze horse.
Some nights, dismounting,

He’d walk down the Midway
To check in with the statues
Crowding Rockefeller Chapel.
He might chat with Zoroaster
Or listen to Athanasius tell jokes
Of surprising puerility.

As he passed her, St. Cecilia
Sometimes hummed the opening bars
Of Jezu Kriste Scedre Kneze
Which he used to sing in Prague

When he was a boy and not an image.
There is a statue of a girl, a student,
Named Margaret Green. She stands
Next to the west nave entrance.
She gave him one night a prayer
I’d left carelessly behind
(The ambulatory was quiet; I’d gone there

To think about ghosts but fell asleep.).
Passing my dorm on his way back
Masaryk left the prayer in my mailbox.
(No, I didn't actually see him leave it
But how else could it have gotten there?)

RETURNED

The grackle I first heard

Sixty years ago has had

His contract renewed

For another year.

(Grackles only die

If someone kills them.

A Minnesota grackle 

Died at twenty-three  

His suspected killer -- 

A sharp-shinned hawk --

Fled across the border 

Into Iowa.) I assume

There are reasons

He keeps turning up

But it may be that he

Understands them

Less than I do.

Grand sins call

For hellhounds

White, with red ears,

Grim but stylish,

Tracking relentlessly

Until some omen says

Says "Today might be

A perfect time

To go for his throat."

For small, graceless sins

Timeserving grackles

Follow you about

Grumbling and creaking

Like rusty gates.

PIECES

Shrewd queens do not underestimate Joe

Bishops edge among the shadows,

Fearing policy will demand their sacrifice;

Inhuman knights move impossibly 

At his command; stark castles roam

Grimly over the field, knowing pawns

Wait to trade death for death with them.

The enemy king suddenly understands 

The true meaning of some casual play

But, almost paralyzed, can only wait.

ISAK REVISED

ISAK DINESEN, WHO GAVE HER SOUL TO THE DEVIL ...

“Having found my soul an encumbrance I could not

Simply ask the servants to dispose of it. Imagine

Riding through Copenhagen and coming upon one’s soul

Dozing in the sun near the harbor! Worse, suppose my cousins

Got hold of it and set it in a field to scare crows? Scarred I may be --

No. Scarred I am beyond denial but pride I have still.

Some rules apply; a lady – still less a Baroness –

Doesn’t engage in barter. The only course, I saw,

Was to give my soul away. We are a small country

Hell maintains no embassy here; the Belgians,

For a fee, represent its interests. I stopped by one autumn day

And filled out the usual forms, using the space left

To indicate the seller’s requested price to write

‘Free-will donation.’ This upset the clerk, did I know

He asked, his left eye burning, how valuable a soul was?

How hard to replace? He stopped just short of calling me a fool

(I can do the blazing eye trick too) and asked me to reconsider

And fill in a price. 

                        “ My dear man – if that’s what you are –

My ancestors were thieves and plunderers. They murdered;

They broke oaths; they had cold hearts and deep thirsts;

They gripped hard what came their way. But traders?

No; no more am I. If you don’t want my soul

Say so, and I will give it to the Church or find a way

To drown it fathoms deep.’ He shrugged finally

And said I should come back; he would meanwhile

Contact his home office. As I left I could hear my soul

Thinking unkind thoughts of me. 

“Three weeks and a day later I returned. A tall old man 

Whom I’d seen at my sisters’ parties was there. As much

As was anyone, he said, he was the Devil. (When I was six 

My governess had made me learn proper forms of address.

A bishop is ‘Your Worship;’ the Emperor of China is
‘Most Serene Altitude.” The Devil is ‘Your Dread Eminence’ 

And is always called upon to chose the first dance 

When he attends balls in his proper person.) “I am honored,

Baroness; few there are who make gifts to me. The necessities

Of my position have made me a commercial traveller

Living in a world of shrewd bargaining. One grows hard.”

“No one,” I told him “thinks any the less of you for it.

Whatever else he is, all know the Devil is a gentleman.”

“Ah, you make me two gifts; I am pleased with them both.

You have my gratitude.” Save for a few remarks about the weather

And a desire that I remember him to my sisters

That was the end of our meeting. 

                       

                                        “It was some years before I realized

There had been an exchange of gifts. I remained nearsighted

But stopped walking into things and can pick out

Even now, when I'm as old as time (but less nimble),

A four leafed clover from the midst of a large meadow.

I am the first to spy a new moon; I sleep well

And all that's happened around me since that day

Has turned into stones or stars or stories.”

ARMISTICE

My Grandmother Esther one day woke up

Feeling so strong there was nothing for it

But to clean every room in her large house.

In the last one, she felt her strength

Bidding her farewell. What a relief to know

Her long war with dust had ended

With honor for both sides.