Category: Something like religion

Longing

‘for your husband shall be your longing, though he have dominion over you.’  Genesis 3:16

So this is the plan:

this throb,

this molten river coursing

from nipple to belly

as she watches the husband return

from the garden.

She kneads floury biscuits at the window,

an amethyst bracelet of bruise

appearing and disappearing into her cotton sleeve.

And this:

this portion of spirits the husband allows himself,

erasing ache and knowledge.

On the way to lunch

he calls each restless beast by name

and tucks his bottle into its straw cradle

knowing he’ll return.

Late, in their unforgiving bed,

she rends his back,

he pounds her prow of bone,

longing.

Men at the Laundry

Four men at the laundromat together,

uniform in white shirts and ties,

hair trimmed like lawns.

Moonies, maybe, or Mormons,

not hard enough for the service.

Their glasses reflect the sun.

Yes, i decide, Christians,

looking for a sanitary theology.

I am a happy beast before them.

With my blood-clotted cottons,

my flea bites, and sweat,

I claim this flesh

from which they fell,

and into which

at sunset

they slide like fish.

Catholic Toilet Paper

 

The building in my new office is in

used to be a convent.

Everything we say in our little cubicles

can be heard clearly in the hall,

as if Mother were still pacing,

Rosary ticking,

alert for Special Friendships

or overzealous penances.

She doesn’t want us

using much toilet paper, either.

There’s a hidden stopper on the roller

so we think we’re free

to pull as much as we want,

but instead we get

just a little less than we need.

Recognition

 

The sun is the eye of the fish of the sky

that flips its tail in mirth.

The river’s the gill of the fish of the hill

that swims within the earth.

Toads that fly,

birds that dive,

horses of the sea,

dogs that climb,

baboons’ behinds,

are all I know of me.

And god is the mother of me and other,

connecting the freak with the fair,

so when you hide your eyes inside

I vanish in the air.

The Workers in the Vineyard

Take what is yours and go.  What if I wish to give this last one the same as you?  Matthew 20:14

I waited for my cousin.

The others were still coming in, shirts off,

dirt, juice, and sweat painting their faces.

I was tired.

Not from working,

shit, I’d only started an hour ago,

but from the heat, from sleeping all morning,

from my life.

 

Emmett, always trying harder,

had gotten on the wagon at the crack of dawn.

I could see him coming in, pulled back

by the skinny horse, both of them swatting at flies.

 

Around me men started to grumble,

to fight.

Everybody was getting the same money.

Emmett and I were getting the same money.

Suddenly I couldn’t stop laughing.

 

Ahead, in the green shade of the fig tree

that crackpot stood,

handing out the pay, saying

I love you.  I love you.