Claudia/1923-1970
Part 10 Her mother still living is 65. Her grandmother still living is 86. "People in my family live for a long time!" —Claudia always used to say, laughing. What a surprise she had.
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Part 10 Her mother still living is 65. Her grandmother still living is 86. "People in my family live for a long time!" —Claudia always used to say, laughing. What a surprise she had.
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Part 9 Everybody agrees to that.
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Part 8 Vicky sleeps out in the woods with dead people but she always combs her hair in the morning. Her parents don't understand her. And she doesn't understand them. They try. She tries. The dead people try. They will all work it out someday.
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Part 7 She's glad that Bill likes her.
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Part 6 This morning there was a knock at the door. You answered it. The mailman was standing there. He slapped your face.
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Part 5 She's very depressed. Nothing went right today, so she doesn't believe that she's there.
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Part 4 Calvin listens to starfish. He listens to them very carefully, lying in the tide pools, soaking wet with his clothes on, but is he really listening to them?
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Part 3 Fred bought a pair of ice skates. That was twenty years ago. He still has them but he doesn't skate any more.
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Part 2 Robot likes to sleep through long lazy summer afternoons. So do his friends with the sun reflecting off them like tin cans.
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Part 1 No party is complete without you. Everybody knows that. The party starts when you arrive.
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I read the Chronicle this morning as if I were stepping into voluntary quicksand and watched the news go over my shoes with forty-four more days of spring. Kent State America May 7, 1970
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It takes a secret to know a "secret." Then you have two secrets that know each other. Just what you always wanted, they stand there looking at each other with their pajamas on.
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When she was fifteen if you'd told her that when she was twenty she'd be going to bed with bald-headed men and liking it, she would have thought you very abstract.
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Death like a needle made from a drunken clown's breath sews the shadow of a (I can't make the next two words out. I first wrote this poem in longhand) to your shadow.
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A friend calls me on the telephone from Tucson, Arizona. He's unhappy. He wants to talk to somebody in San Francisco. We talk for a while. He mentions there's a moth in the room. "It's solemn," he says.
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Toward the pleasures of a reconstituted crow I collect darkness within myself like the shadow of a blind lighthouse.
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The last surprise is when you come gradually to realize that nothing surprises you any more.
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We are in a kitchen in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Some bacon is frying. It smells like a character that you like in a good movie. A beautiful girl is watching the bacon.
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Looking out a hotel window it's snowing in New York with great huge snowflakes like millions of transparent washing machines swirling through the dirty air of this city, washing it.
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I don't want to know about it. Tell it to somebody else. They'll understand and make you feel better.
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