I have not needed you for thirteen years.
You left my mother to me like a bride.
To take your place, I shut off all my tears,
And with your death, it was my grief that died.
How could I know that women worship pain?
And now my mother’s eyes bring back your ghost again.
I dreamed that digging in the humid ground
You found, among the worms, my embryo;
You put it on a hook-it made no sound
Opening its mouth as you let it go
Into the lake where, fishing from a boat,
You watched the bulging-eyed, discarded fishes float.
Only the strong within know gentleness.
When you cried out that was your mastery!
I took a wife, but never let her guess
It was your ghost that chose my secrecy.
She needed what you would not have me show:
My need for her; from strength one lets a weakness grow.
I dreamed we both rowed through a windy mist;
The dark lake tilted where you wished to go.
Fish scales and blood glowed at me from your wrist;
The air I gulped only the drowning know.
You had me hold the net, and I believed
It was the fish’s spastic death for which I grieved.
Leave a Reply