"The Other Side of Her Brain Is An Accomplice "
Evidence Fell From A Leather Apron
Go ahead. Surprise me.
Open me as you would
an oyster. It’s work,
and no, pearls (worth anything)
are a rarity. No surprise there, but here,
where Spring Morris pushed the Dumpty man
over the wall.
Pull enough to have her name removed
from poetry. She’s an expert agoraphobic,
a precise shopper and remarkable
with time management.
........A touchable untouchable our Spring,
........our auntie so gifted, God love her,
........whoever she is, is she ever loveable.
Look at her as she peers from a window,
pedometer in hand, she holds a doctorate
in pedology. Her father is a pedophile
................. —she knows—
he drives the schoolbags here
and there.
II Alibis Is Not A Good Witness
It is a waste to know
the taste of soap on loose skin,
the hard bark of this
is knowledge;
is whatever
whatever holds as could be now you,
now as well as now yesterday, now tomorrow,
now beneath the corkscrew willow.
It is a waste to know this tree so well. Have such an attachment
as this I have with this tree. This inanimate thing
rooted to earth..-this big an area-... Nothing
changes but air and yet, air is always
as now this tree is that tree there, and here
we are exactly the same. After billions
of babies birthed, Eve’s art becomes cliché,
something known individually, abstracted
sometimes by a single toe
perhaps. It is the Chinese who know dishonor—
now a father, now her brothers, now is Mother
wrapping her feet as her mother’s mother’s
mother taught her silence is now
gold and crippled as and remain as much
as this tree or three brothers
will fall hard as broken apples.
III The Victim Commits Suicide
IV The Prosecutor Empathizes
V The Unequivocal Acquittal
Benjamin Franklin holds the credit for light
so why does God take all these pills
and merely kill a kidney? A daughter
holds her ears like apples, willing
to bite them just to watch them bleed
instinctively as would her mother who dies
as well as any southern lady could
wrapped in a silk kimono,
feet tied to a bedpost and stuck like this fucking tree.
© 2005 Karen L. Monahan
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