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| Steam: When Water, When Air. . . Souhegan River |
The Truth About Chemistry
Truant from knowing, I stood where the great dark fell.
William Stafford
Circle of Breath
Truth is that it is
nothing until it is
poured into something
that is if not
its opposite it is
enough of nothing
it finds the spots
left bereft
by the last guest
the last almost decade
of attempts, how
gearing it up
for an easy come on
inside right up to the hip
and there’s only one way
out you get it
whole and swollen
near to choke-broke
in the dark. It’s not
what I wanted
at all and I’d wash
the burning wash I saw
my mother use
day after day
when she came back
late and we were supposed
to be asleep. The tub
was a splotch-line
of blood and soap
scum, and the first time
scum, and the first time
I saw a Jackson Pollock
brewing in front of me
I really saw
the redblueporcelain
and the ring of Irish
Spring hovering like steamed
clam water...
clam water...
I’d scrape with one
thumb and bring up
something like clean
beneath it, something
almost
brand new. And too,
I couldn’t
go by a dry side-
walk when it started
to rain without
stopping to watch
the splotching it all
came to and not
remember how
all those years
you pushed your way
into me
without warning
and I took it
all the way the way
I was taught
to take it
and when you
were finished and sleeping
I’d take the suckling
baby
baby
of my shame
and submerge her
into the hot as scald
water and watch
the blots float up
to the surface
and bob and fall
to the floor
of the tub
and be reluctant
to fall,
to fall,
once the water was run
out, once the plug
was undone
how those clots clung
and how I pushed
them gentle like
on the small
of their backs down
the long lane
of the drain saying
what you pour into me
aint nothing aint nothing
in a cave of nothing
it aint nothing
while you grunt
uninterrupted in
your sleep, nothing.
