Category: People

The boys have grown so hard this summer –

little apostles of violence screeching out of their driveways

in their bad cars.

The mamas are pleading up and down the block –

Don’t you leave.

Don’t you take that car.

Why do you do this?  Why?

And the answer is the same

for the mamas and the gods and the jackoff cutting them off

in traffic –

Fuck you, man, fuck you.

The boys have grown so hard this summer

watching the mtv boys whip the clothes off some bitch

until she’s only lips and tits and high heels,

stripped to cruel simplicity.

And I am afraid.

At the invitation of the Shah’s people she set out

for an adventure abroad taking

10 uniforms,

3 pair of good American shoes,

2 identical white cardigans,

and her mother,

who would find clean water, bargain for melons,

and train the help.

Square and blonde she moved briskly

through Labor and Delivery trying to discern

the structure of the system.

As women arrived, they chose empty beds

and quietly let her know when they were ready.

As the baby came, the nursery girl

would write the mother’s name

on its forehead with a grease pencil.

Several times a day the babies were brought

and mothers’ names called out.

If there were many Maras, the baby would be carried

from one to the next until the mother was found.

Some days she would visit the nursery

after her shift, brushing back babies’ black hair

with her small white fingers,

crooning their mothers’ names to them

in a language they would never speak.

Once, puzzled by clean faces

she asked the nursery girl:

Why no names on the babies by the heater?

The mothers had left.  They had too many.

Or too many girls.

They would stay warm here until the end.

Her own mother told her to bring them all home.

More realistic, she presented a plan to the Director.

Milk could be expressed, agencies involved.

Fingers making the church and the steeple,

he explained it was impossible.

She never visited the nursery again

but served her time efficiently,

telling herself over and over,

like a prayer sung out in the marketplace:

Surely this one

sliding into my hands

will be delivered.