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| Silence August Saint-Gaudens |
black and white
negatives
some must come
up from white
and black
a spit of grey negative
on the speculum
or not
on but in-in-
side the sound-
box of a skull
inside the spaces
between each
crimp of bone
grain or like those
who’ve bled their
own blood but
in surprise absolute
surprise they might
yes! die of it
like it had never
(or maybe in another
life) crossed
their mind to say
I’ve got a trauma
I want you to
know but only like
a drowned thing
coming up
wavy enough,
still beneath the
whiskey peat
when it was green
a big green, mean
and I didn’t see
I was little
I was a doll
I stood still
while it happened
to me and I
screamed
once but I think
it was in my skull
I think
it’s black and white
in there now and gray
and when he
pulled out grunt
and tough he wiped
himself off
on the cuff
of my pulled to
the knees
panties and slumped
and I coughed
some blood
and watched him (he’ll
be drunk
the next time
and I’ll call it
love on our
wedding night)
and my kitchen
is stocked
with knives
and they shine
in black and white
in white and gray
while the baby
cries (there’s
that one time
he’d rode hard
the wet road
and dumped me
full of himself
and skidded off
and here she
is) and in the dark
he yells and she
goes still like
the way, when
he grabbed
the dog
by the collar
and shook him
until, until—yes
this I want to see
to show you
when he’s asleep
in black and white
in negative,
in the dark room
before developing
takes shape, sets in
on glossy monochrome
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