Wednesday, April 24, 2013

ANEMONESE



ANEMONES 
 1
(Her Father)

The silence was at its deepest,
the stillness undisturbed,
the crickets ceased their racket;
night-watchmen slept their guard
and the anemones, red, red anemones
sang to the girl in the bedroom
where she rested in  solitude.

Obeying an inner command,
she rose up from her bed
night-clothed she went to stand
at the door that she opened.
anemones, red, red anemones
sang to the girl in the bedroom
where she rested in 
solitude.

For a moment, she stood listening,
then closed the door behind her
and walked into the night more like floating,
on moonbeams expecting no answer.
anemones, red, red anemones
sang to her  solitude.

Down the moonlit path, toward the old
water tower, where, a few weeks gone past,
five corpses of soldiers lay on the ground
wrapped in blood-stained army blankets.
anemones, red, red anemones
sang to her  solitude.

Time leaped back.
She saw the corpses, stretched out,
their naked feet protruding ghosts like 
in the moonlight       

“I am dreaming, and my eyes can see . . .
Anemones, red, red anemones,"

She bent down, lifted the blankets
searched the faces; with the tips
of her fingers, extraordinarily softly,
touched the faces.
anemones, red, red anemones
sang to her  solitude.

He wasn’t there.

“Gill!” she called. “Gill!”
She began walking around the bodies
just as she had walked then—that day;
the day they’d brought the bodies.
Red red anemones

Then, she heard Gill’s voice,
soft and clear and bright.
“Tomorrow will be a beautiful day.
Go to the woods. To our secret place.”

“Yes, yes. Tomorrow.
In the woods.
Our secret place. Yes.
Listen, Gill, I’ve something to tell you . . .”
anemones, red, red anemones . . .

Gill was gone. The corpses vanished;
she alone was standing by the old water tower,
smiling at nothing. She returned to her room.
Singing Gill’s favorite tune,
Anemones, red, red anemones . . .

She went on singing, even softer,
as she got into her bed.
For a while, she lay quietly,
her eyes wide-open;
anemones, red, red anemones
sang to her  solitude.

She remembered the sky. Black.
Each star a burning flame,
the moon bigger, brighter than ever,
the moss sprouting out of cracks in the
cement of the old water tower,
the smell of death on the soldiers’ faces.
anemones, red, red anemones
sang to her  solitude.

Then the night silkened and
only Gill’s voice lingered in her mind,
lulling her into sleep.
anemones, red, red anemones
to her  solitude.
           

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