Spring scraps

Our backyard today is an island
Wind rushes and roars like the sea
Wrapped around us, and the sounds
Of the streets seem as faroff as dreams.
The trees shiver and cast down their leaves--
Rustle and hiss, like the crashing
Of waves on the sand of the beach--
My barefooted babies dig toes in the dirt,
Build their castles and mountains of leaves
Which the wind laps and licks. It whispers
And spits, till they crumple and slump
round our feet, in their separate leaves.

*
i think sometimes Heaven is a long string
of watermelon days:
hot, unhurried labor in good soil,
dirt black and sweet enough
for thicksprung flourishes--
tomatoes, beans--May be
in heaven there are no weeds-- may be
we know each green thing's name
and name its gift: to us, to its sisters, to the soil
May be
that good ground bears enough
for insects, birds,
for all the little hungry things
and for our tending hands
to pick, and eat
After our day's work: thickskinned,
crisp with its juice,
sweet
In heaven we will have forever
to meet each melon knit into those genes:
to cross, to tend, to grow,
to meet the scarlet, orange, gold
fleshed melons,
to open them and taste
the fruit of thornless labor
We will break them together among us
ripe and sweet
*
Sweet May! The fairest month by far.
What April promised slyly
And then in chill drew back
May brings, all golden smiling,
Drops all her beauties in your lap:
Winds her thick and sweet scents round you
Like winding--and when she's bound you
Scratches at your throat and eyes
With pollen, till you scream to die
And wish her sweets and flowers blight
That you might breathe again at night.

Song (version 2)

thought i saw this woman
black haired woman
walking by

saw her looking at me
with the corner
of her eye

i knew this girl before
i knew her going by

lived with her before
she was no kind of wife

said
i'll be your bracelets
said
let me be your bed

lie down with that girl, that girl: you
might as well be dead


lord her skin is pretty
but you might as well be dead

i said that girl
that girl i loved
she has long dark wavy hair

eyes like spiders
girl
i see you looking there

that woman, she has heavy
arms: thick and white
might wrap those arms around you
in the middle of the night

you might as well be dead then
better off alone
than lie there in the dark with
arms around your bones

i lived with her before once
might live with her again
come knocking on my door, i
guess i'll let her in

come fold me in your arms again
come tell me all your lies
i know the way you treated me

i know it wasn't right
i need someone to hold me

i can see you walking by

i lived with you before now
i can live with you again
i can feel the way you held me still

i guess i'll let you in

sounds

This is a list of the sounds I love:

the birdthick dawn. At six their whistles
are manifold, intent:
sweet squabbling

Felix and Geneva in the next room
are trying to whisper;
giggle,
their Lego's plastic crashes--
their floor is an avalanche
in blues and yellows

I do not love
the coffeepot's unlovely, adenoidal drip
the baby yelling to be uncaged
over the dishes' clink and scrape

I love a two year old's unhesitating best
S, L, R: how proud
they trumpet new, unperfect words!

I love old music. My husband's fingers dancing
medieval tunes:
my bones remember
these dances

I love doxology. The ancient creeds
recited with the saints through history.
I love the Justs and Ums of corporate prayer.
I love it when the preacher starts to shout.

I love to read a newfound poem aloud,
or an old friend.

I love the sounds of summer night,
thick, like sweet wine

and all the sounds of summer days:

the buzz and hum of ceaseless bees
lawnmowers
leafblowers
dog barks
faroff sirens
rushing cars
rap bass rattles

a distant laugh

the small sound the dirt makes
fingersifted:
light and rich enough
to eat
Sometimes, I think I hear the beanshoots growing
so eager-unfearful--
How they grow, and sing!

those beautiful children:
they are lifting up their faces,
they are green and little suns