Poem 103

Written in December ’82, late in my three month dedicated writing jag that resulted in 60 poems and 12 short stories … I was in love with rhyme – which was very much against the temper of the poetry times – perhaps unconsciously I was more influenced by song lyrics? … when I hit it right I had a good sense of rhythm (on display here IMHO – it’s written to be read out loud) … there’s a little bit of Yeats’ rough beast in this, the jostling of the past not being past, sands of time and inevitability of human nature …

(I really thought I was the first person in history to note the connection between Jesus’s family business of carpentry and him dying on a cross – but since then I’ve seen a number of writers draw the same line …  )

Sand

Hold the door against the wind
and the sand the sand
that lies against us like sleep
still it dribbles in
dry sleep that rims red the eyes

it is useless to keep watch at this door
to watch as it pours
grains seconds it comes against us
in drifts
it shrinks me shrivels my skin
while outside the wind shifts
round
every quarter every corner
every dark gaping house
that echoes the sound
of a door slammed
again and again the wind replays
boy girl woman man
running down these stairs
hating betrayed
burning dry without tears

blind house abandoned
two thousand years on the stone
Roman foot
still crushes at random
sand and wind alone
they thrive
this morning in the market
Mary was once more alive
pleased well fed
aware of no losses
we are in money this month she said
my husband has another big order
of crosses