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Just by the wooden brig a bird flew up, Frit by the cowboy as he scrambled down To reach the misty dewberry—let us stoop And seek its nest—the brook we need not dread, 'Tis scarcely deep enough a bee to drown, So it sings harmless o'er its pebbly bed —Ay here it is, stuck close beside the bank Beneath the bunch of grass that spindles rank Its husk seeds tall and high—'tis rudely planned Of bleachèd stubbles and the withered fare That last year's harvest left upon the land, Lined thinly with the horse's sable hair. Five eggs, pen-scribbled o'er with ink their shells Resembling writing scrawls which fancy reads As nature's poesy and pastoral spells— They are the yellowhammer's and she dwells Most poet-like where brooks and flowery weeds As sweet as Castaly to fancy seems And that old molehill like as Parnass' hill On which her partner haply sits and dreams O'er all her joys of song—so leave it still A happy home of sunshine, flowers and streams. Yet in the sweetest places cometh ill, A noisome weed that burthens every soil; For snakes are known with chill and deadly coil To watch such nests and seize the helpless young, And like as though the plague became a guest, Leaving a houseless home, a ruined nest— And mournful hath the little warblers sung When such like woes hath rent its little breast.

When my father held his Bic lighter to the nests in back of the garage, the gray paper pulp sparked then blackened. Ashes fell, coating crawling ivy and clover. A few yellowjackets fled, one or two swirled, flying into the sweaty face of my father, but most too stunned, their usual side-to-side swag of a dance, flailing in the smoke. When one landed on my arm, I stiffened. His wings settled into a still gauze, body coiled in yellow bands, the same shade as buttercups we held to our skin, cupping sunlight near our chins. Every step, careful, quivering, as if neither of us knew who was supposed to sting.

The war was over. We sutured the wounded, buried the dead, sat at the bar with the enemy, near the blue throat of the sea. A sushi chef slivered salmon into orchids, etched clouds from oysters, as they rose snowing pearls. From shrimp and seaweed he shaped hummingbirds, which hovered above our heads. With the world’s smallest blade he carved from yellowfin, miniature flanks of horses. They cantered around our hands.

I am done smoking cigarettes, done waiting tables, done counting tips at two a.m. in the neon-dark dance hall, done sleeping with young men in my apartment, done facing them or not, thinking of oblivion, which is better than nothing. I am done not wearing underwear because it’s so Victorian. I am done telling men I don’t wear underwear because it’s so Victorian. I am done with the night a guy spread my legs on a pool table, all those balls piled up in the pockets. I am done. I am never going back. When I see that night on the street I will drive past and never even glance over. I am done going to grad school, nodding in your workshop. I am done teaching English as a second language, saying I pointing to my chest, saying you pointing to them. I am done teaching the poetry class where no one talked and no one listened to me and outside the window the cottonwood wagged its sun-white leaves in the breeze as if to say,I give up, I give up. I am done being a childless woman, a childless wife, a woman with no scars on her body. I am done with the wide afternoons of before, the long stare, the tightly closed door. And I am done, too, for the most part, with the daydream of after. I am after for now. I am turning up the heater to see if that will make the baby sleep another fifteen minutes so I can finish this poem. I am done thinking of the past as if it had survived, though sometimes I think of the past and sometimes I see it coming, catching up, hands caked with dried mud, head shaved clean.

Yes, your childhood now a legend of fountains — jorge gullén Yes, your childhood, now a legend gone to weeds, still remembers the gray road that set out to cross the desert of the future. And how, always just ahead, gray water glittered, happy to be just a mirage. Who steps off the gray bus at the depot? Sidewalks shudder all the way home. Blinds close their scratchy eyes. Who settles in your old room? Sniffy air sprawls as if it owns the place, and now your teenage secrets have no one to tell. For the spider laying claim to the corner, there is a stickiness to spin, that the living may beg to be wrapped in silk and devoured, leaving not even the flinch from memory.

Yes, I live inside the piano, but there is no need for you to come and visit me.

I’ve trod the links with many a man, And played him club for club; ’Tis scarce a year since I began And I am still a dub. But this I’ve noticed as we strayed Along the bunkered way, No one with me has ever played As he did yesterday. It makes no difference what the drive, Together as we walk, Till we up to the ball arrive, I get the same old talk: “To-day there’s something wrong with me, Just what I cannot say. Would you believe I got a three For this hole—yesterday?” I see them top and slice a shot, And fail to follow through, And with their brassies plough the lot, The very way I do. To six and seven their figures run, And then they sadly say: “I neither dubbed nor foozled one When I played—yesterday!” I have no yesterdays to count, No good work to recall; Each morning sees hope proudly mount, Each evening sees it fall. And in the locker room at night, When men discuss their play, I hear them and I wish I might Have seen them—yesterday. Oh, dear old yesterday! What store Of joys for men you hold! I’m sure there is no day that’s more Remembered or extolled. I’m off my task myself a bit, My mind has run astray; I think, perhaps, I should have writ These verses—yesterday.

Yesterday, the sunshine made the air glow pushing me like a sixteen-year-old to toss my shirt off, and run along the river shore, splashing in the water, wading out to the reeds, my heart an ancient Yaki drum and I believed, more than believed, the air beneath trees was female blue dancers I approached, and there in the dry leaves, in the crisp twigs, I turned softly as if dancing with a blue woman made of air, sunlight, in shrub-weed skirts. I knew the dance that would please the Gods, I knew the dance that would make the river water smile glistening ever silvering, I knew the dance steps that praised my ancestors. Yeah, I wanted to write you a poem woman for two days, and today it was gray and snowy and overcast, about how I startled the mallards from their shallow refuge beneath the Russian olive trees and how the male purposely came close to me diverting my attention to it its female love went the other way risking its life, that's what I saw, the male fly before the hunter's rifles, circle in sights of hunters and take the shots, the roaring rifle blast after blast and circle beyond over the fields to meet its female companion. That's how I miss you, that's how I wanted to write you a poem since we left you one way me another way. I was the male taking with me the hunters that would harm you risking my heart so yours wouldn't be hurt, fronting myself as possible prey so you could escape, that kind of poem I am writing you now. Circling as hunters aim down on me while you rise, rise, rise into the blue sky and meet me over in the next fields. I wanted to write you a poem for two days now to tell you how happy I was, seeing a white crane arc between banks in the irrigation ditch with furious efforts, its big wings flapping like an awkward nine-year-old kid much taller than the others his age with size twelve sneakers flapping down the basketball court. But once the white crane found its balance, its wings their grace, it glided more perfectly than a ballet dancer's leap across air, all of its feathers ballet dancer's toes, all of its feathers delicate dancers all of its feathers, in motion made me believe in myself, but more, when it rose, swooped up, the line of ascent up made me think of the curve of your spine, how I traced my finger down your spine when you slept, your spine is the ascent of the crane toward the sunshine, and my hands my face my torso and chest and legs and hips became air, a blue cold artic air you glided up in your song of winter love.

Sixty-two, sixty-three, I most remember As time W. C. Williams dies and we are Back from a hard two years in Guatemala Where the meager provision of being Schoolmaster for the kids of the patrones Of two coffee plantations has managed Neither a life nor money. Leslie dies in Horror of bank giving way as she and her Sister and their friends tunnel in to make A cubby. We live in an old cement brick Farmhouse already inside the city limits Of Albuquerque. Or that has all really Happened and we go to Vancouver where, Thanks to friends Warren and Ellen Tallman, I get a job teaching at the University of British Columbia. It’s all a curious dream, a rush To get out of the country before the sad Invasion of the Bay of Pigs, that bleak use Of power. One of my British colleagues Has converted the assets of himself and His wife to gold bullion and keeps the Ingots in a sturdy suitcase pushed under Their bed. I love the young, at least I Think I do, in their freshness, their attempt To find ways into Canada from the western Reaches. Otherwise the local country seems Like a faded Edwardian sitcom. A stunned Stoned woman runs one Saturday night up And down the floors of the Hydro Electric Building on Pender with the RCMP in hot Pursuit where otherwise we stood in long Patient lines, extending often several blocks Up the street. We were waiting to get our Hands stamped and to be given a 12 pack Of Molson’s. I think, I dream, I write the Final few chapters of The Island, the despairs Gathering at the end. I read Richard Brautigan’s Trout Fishing In America but am too uptight To enjoy his quiet, bright wit. Then that Summer there is the great Vancouver Poetry Festival, Allen comes back from India, Olson From Gloucester, beloved Robert Duncan From Stinson Beach. Denise reads “Hypocrite Women” to the Burnaby ladies and Gary Snyder, Philip Whalen, and Margaret Avison are there Too along with a veritable host of the young. Then it’s autumn again. I’ve quit my job And we head back to Albuquerque And I teach again at the university, and Sometime just about then I must have Seen myself as others see or saw me, Even like in a mirror, but could not quite Accept either their reassuring friendship Or their equally locating anger. Selfish, Empty, I kept at it. Thirty-eight years later I seem to myself still much the same, Even if I am happier, I think, and older.

I Put a sun in Sunday, Sunday. Eleven please ten hoop. Hoop. Cousin coarse in coarse in soap. Cousin coarse in soap sew up. soap. Cousin coarse in sew up soap. II A lea ender stow sole lightly. Not a bet beggar. Nearer a true set jump hum, A lamp lander so seen poor lip. III Never so round. A is a guess and a piece. A is a sweet cent sender. A is a kiss slow cheese. A is for age jet. IV New deck stairs. Little in den little in dear den. V Polar pole. Dust winder. Core see. A bale a bale o a bale. VI Extravagant new or noise peal extravagant. VII S a glass. Roll ups. VIII Powder in wails, powder in sails, powder is all next to it is does wait sack rate all goals like chain in clear. IX Negligible old star. Pour even. It was a sad per cent. Does on sun day. Watch or water. So soon a moon or a old heavy press. X Pearl cat or cat or pill or pour check. New sit or little. New sat or little not a wad yet. Heavy toe heavy sit on head. XI Ex, ex, ex. Bull it bull it bull it bull it. Ex Ex Ex. XII Cousin plates pour a y shawl hood hair. No see eat. XIII They are getting, bad left log lope, should a court say stream, not a dare long beat a soon port. XIV Colored will he. Calamity. Colored will he Is it a soon. Is it a soon. Is it a soon. soon. Is it a soon. soon. XV Nobody’s ice. Nobody’s ice to be knuckles. Nobody’s nut soon. Nobody’s seven picks. Picks soap stacks. Six in set on seven in seven told, to top. XVI A spread chin shone. A set spread chin shone. XVII No people so sat. Not an eider. Not either. Not either either. XVIII Neglect, neglect use such. Use such a man. Neglect use such a man. Such some here. XIX Note tie a stem bone single pair so itching. XX Little lane in lay in a circular crest. XXI Peace while peace while toast. Paper eight paper eight or, paper eight ore white. XXII Coop pour. Never a single ham. Charlie. Charlie. XXIII Neglect or. A be wade. Earnest care lease. Least ball sup. XXIV Meal dread. Meal dread so or. Meal dread so or bounce. Meal dread so or bounce two sales. Meal dread so or bounce two sails. Not a rice. No nor a pray seat, not a little muscle, not a nor noble, not a cool right more than a song in every period of nails and pieces pieces places of places. XXV Neat know. Play in horizontal pet soap. XXVI Nice pose. Supper bell. Pull a rope pressed. Color glass. XXVII Nice oil pail. No gold go at. Nice oil pail. Near a paper lag sought. What is an astonishing won door. A please spoon. XXVIII Nice knee nick ear. Not a well pair in day. Nice knee neck core. What is a skin pour in day. XXIX Climb climb max. Hundred in wait. Paper cat or deliver XXX Little drawers of center. Neighbor of dot light. Shorter place to make a boom set. Marches to be bright. XXXI Suppose a do sat. Suppose a negligence. Suppose a cold character. XXXII Suppose a negligence. Suppose a sell. Suppose a neck tie. XXXIII Suppose a cloth cape. Suppose letter suppose let a paper. Suppose soon. XXXIV A prim a prim prize. A sea pin. A prim a prim prize A sea pin. XXXV Witness a way go. Witness a way go. Witness a way go. Wetness. Wetness. XXXVI Lessons lettuce. Let us peer let us polite let us pour, let us polite. Let us polite. XXXVII Neither is blessings bean. XXXVIII Dew Dew Drops. Leaves kindly Lasts. Dew Dew Drops. XXXIX A R. nuisance. Not a regular plate. Are, not a regular plate. XL Lock out sandy. Lock out sandy boot trees. Lock out sandy boot trees knit glass. Lock out sandy boot trees knit glass. XLI A R not new since. New since. Are new since bows less. XLII A jell cake. A jelly cake. A jelly cake. XLIII Peace say ray comb pomp Peace say ray comb pump Peace say ray comb pomp Peace say ray comb pomp. XLIV Lean over not a coat low. Lean over not a coat low by stand. Lean over net. Lean over net a coat low hour stemmed Lean over a coat low a great send. Lean over coat low extra extend. XLV Copying Copying it in. XLVI Never second scent never second scent in stand. Never second scent in stand box or show. Or show me sales. Or show me sales oak. Oak pet. Oak pet stall. XLVII Not a mixed stick or not a mixed stick or glass. Not a mend stone bender, not a mend stone bender or stain. XLVIII Polish polish is it a hand, polish is it a hand or all, or all poles sick, or all poles sick. XLIX Rush in rush in slice. L Little gem in little gem in an. Extra. LI In the between egg in, in the between egg or on. LII Leaves of gas, leaves of get a towel louder. LIII Not stretch. LIV Tea Fulls. Pit it pit it little saddle pear say. LV Let me see wheat air blossom. Let me see tea. LVI Nestle in glass, nestle in walk, nestle in fur a lining. LVII Pale eaten best seek. Pale eaten best seek, neither has met is a glance. LVIII Suppose it is a s. Suppose it is a seal. Suppose it is a recognised opera LIX Not a sell inch, not a boil not a never seeking cellar. LX Little gem in in little gem in an. Extra. LXI Catch as catch as coal up. LXII Necklaces, neck laces, necklaces, neck laces. LXIII Little in in in in. LXIV Next or Sunday, next or sunday check. LXV Wide in swim, wide in swim pansy. LXVI Next to hear next to hear old boat seak, old boat seak next to hear LXVII Ape pail ape pail to glow. LXVIII It was in on an each tuck. It was in on an each tuck. LXIX Wire lean string, wire lean string excellent miss on one pepper cute. Open so mister soil in to close not a see wind not seat glass.