dote ; in the doorway

for pauline

 

 

 

   Disposed to embrace

   I can lay flat

   and sleep like a

   great cat on any

   bedding made from

   scratch.

   Pauline made,

  ( just for me), quilts

   of collected color,

   scraps of cotton

   with only a few stones

   removed, assorted

   disregards and string.

   When I was a child

   she would tell me

   that when quilting

   her mind would journey

   to different events in

   her life and

   enbedded with verb

   and clause, she

   would alter outcomes,

   domesticate wild

   turkeys and welcome

   more lovers.

   But instead

   she made coils with

   blue barrets in

   my sisters hair,

   baked bisquits

   every morning for

   a husband somewhere

   shooting squirrels

   and building s**t,

   and scolded me, on

   the hour, not to look

   as she raised her

   ample frock to pee

   in predictable jelly

   jars placed near

   predictable chairs.

 

 

   To embroider with

   needlework, i imagine,

   is a journey

   that can't quite be

   predicted.

 

 

   When she got older

   and her knee would

   swell with fluid, she

   would stand in the doorway

   like a emir, who naked in

   sand, holds his grace.

   Near the end,

   embraceor of eternity,

   on her attempt to

   influence the jury of

   angels;

   Ray Charles blind

   she would tell me,

   "if you yell when you

   advance your charge

   dying is always

   more profound".

 

 

             hder

Reviews

[Emily B]

oh, oh . . . Iused to love Nikki Giovanni's poems about chocolate warmth and dirty windows, but I think I love these words more