Auguste sleeps on a bench
In the garden. Köbes the crow
Drops on him leaves and small branches
Until he is satisfactorily hidden.
A portmanteau
Auguste sleeps on a bench
In the garden. Köbes the crow
Drops on him leaves and small branches
Until he is satisfactorily hidden.
When Esther was young she and her sister
Somehow decided that Esther would be
The practical one and Irene would go on
Looking beautiful, playing her violin and
Making what looked like people
Out of smoke of which there was a lot
In Lemberg, stored there because
If the war came there'd be a shortage
And a smart man with a warehouse
Full of smoke could make a thaler or two.
Esther was 14 when she began working
In a cigarette factory and became
A timekeeper and might have made a career
There but the factory burned down;
This wasn't, she said, a bit funny since
It put her out of a job. She asked Irina
For a turn being the pretty, musical one
But Irene said no and Esther married Max.
A minimally-staffed door needs
At least three gods. If there's a key
It needs a god too. Windows,
Have no gods and fend for themselves
My mother's death drops by to say
She'll be twenty this year and next year
When she's old enough to vote
She means to vote for dead candidates
Since they'll understand that death
Is serious business and not to be trusted lightly
To strangers and children. I tell her the voting age
Is now eighteen; she could have voted last year
She says "Why didn't you tell me? Now
I'll just have to vote twice."
Is so long it can afford to spend several pages
Describing a new-made dress which has
A deep bottom ruffle, about 12 inches wide
A narrow ruffle and a gathered ruffle
Almost as wide as the bottom one.
The overskirt has a mourning roll of velvet and folds
Of velvet and silk. The sleeves, cut open
Almost to the elbow, are decorated with Malta lace.
There's a black bow in front and one in back
And many, many buttons. Theodora
Might have the same dress made so she and Grace
Can be twins unless Theodora (who will soon
Decide to be Sarah instead) would rather be twins
With Bessie Winthrop, who has a new fringed velvet dress
Though fringes aren't cheap and black velvet costs the earth.
For every Icarus who falls
Headlong from the sky there is
An Anti-Icarus who digs a hole
All the way to China, remembering
To make a sharpish left turn when he's
Gone about two-thirds of the way
So he doesn't drown in the Pacific.
Melancholy is not clinical lycanthropy,
(The state of suspecting you're a wolf)
Nor is it kuru (when your nipples
Are thinking about killing you
By suddenly inverting and attacking
Your interior). It isn't sadness simple;
It isn't grief unmixed nor agenbite
Of inwit. Saint Theresa says that
The pain of God setting your soul on fire
Isn't really melancholy either. Durer
Thought melancholy had a beard
All that's known for certain is that
Melancholy is cold, dry, dark and heavy.
Lucifer's been called the first melancholic
But insists that was God, not him. "This was,"
He says, "back before the first day so there
Was no light; the mistake was natural."