Boston, April 15

Boston, April 15

Ideeli.com is a having a counter-terrorism sale.

The broad aqua stripes on the Seattle Smocked Dress

Displace Copley Square Blood Patterns as good as needlework.

Thus also at Whole Foods pancake mix went cheap

The night after the Newtown, Connecticut, children were shot.

I bought two boxes in self-defense.

No, really, I wanted to wrap my son

In flour tulle, airy silk

Of flapjacks and hotcakes and other cute mysteries

That English offers when welcoming.

I hid Nathan under the pancake of immigrant-insured history.

But he peeked out and said: Mama! Buy all those

Blasphemous bunches of peonies, too!

Though the ruddy flower faces reminded —

What else could I do? Isn’t life, investment in life,

The reverse of what terrorists and sociopaths desire?

What but to think of people exactly like us,

Who ran a marathon in the morning and died in the afternoon

When Anonymous swept away their shelves

Of pancake mixes, flower seeds, and parcels with summer dresses

Everlasting?

Youniverse

Youniverse

               

what i want is Your cries to awaken me.

at seven, our place speaks various Youish.

outside, seagulls go You! is that You!?

and so yes: sleepy eyes, and Yougurt 

on its way out slurping youuuuu, long and loud.

aye! what’s better than to be devoured!

…You contracted tap water into a ball!

into a bull!

spraying spinning tails all over the bathroom!

i wash Your hands after breakfast. Ewww!

mew the pipes.  You’re crying, i’ve got EnnYouI,

but it’s cured by the warm towel of Your water.

pj pants have been Youified into coat tails,

moving targets for kittens,

flower pots, transfigured: graves on the rug;

i'm mad but i’m twOOOOOO! too!

then, nothing: hi nanny; o homelessness,

i’m kicked out into spring, no one notices

all i’m wearing is suit heels papers perfume.

but i've got the Youniverse wrapped around my neck,

and it’s warm, and it’s purring

while i hand out goodmornings to the resident yous.

In Russian again... (number 14 of 100)

Прислушиваешься в семь утра 

Проснулся?

И вот - маленькие резкие крики

(Бедный не может сам даже встать

Детство как инвалидство)

                        Громче

(Самоутверждается?)
(Животик снова?)

                                                            Громче 

(Да ладно не беги так мама

Просто у меня пока нет языка)

(Мама я потом всё тебе расскажу   

Как Пруст)

                       В комнате
Тишайшее дыхание на свете

Пух разметавшийся по подушке

Плюшевый лосик сверху  Одна лапа во рту

А крики

Сумасшедшей чайки

За окном

stroller mom

bolted to the ground as she walks.

disciplines the handle with both hands.

exoskeleton lustrous. front legs convert to brakes.

around her cars and phones

scamper as they please                       

       instant like mice.

she is                                       an ancient inkjet cartridge,  

an astronaut revolving in a cage.

                        eyes metal with attention.       lips pregnant with corrections.

but her cooing –

lips pregnant with corrections.

flying cooing –

            lips always pregnant.

the cooing that flies forward to the baby:

                                                just lightly strapped to the tin, grating air?

then what?

then for a second you and I surrender

and autumn street translates into a river

and bubbles of a voice float deeply up

meanwhile she sight unseen

L-E-A-P-S

up!

and with shrewd starving eyes

rips coins and nails out of the sky

so many coins

so many nails

she hides them in her arms

In Russian

                                                Е.Г.

Материнство состоит из «пытаюсь» и «не»

В графу «не» сразу заносим твой первый снег

как это может быть –

твоего Луи Армстронга (первые пятьсот раз) –

и нежность что тянет-потянет из «не»

В медитации  твоего полу-лица

в мою мамскую полу-прыть

вместо алефа разгляжу даже не аз а «а»

да и то лишь – чтоб научить

Но морскую раковину силится тронуть  трава

хоть ночь                 прослушивается        насквозь

да и ночь хлопнет дверью нет-нет и коснётся едва

рамы оконной белой как никогда

максимум травы – отраженье травы

максимум ночи – твоя и чуть-чуть моя

но краска на раме линяет     сладко ей от тепла            

В этом давно в печи обожённом «пытаюсь»

живут муравьи

на кухне спиралью розовой борщ и все звуки мои

крутится-вертится-хочет-ам-ам ня-ня

а потом можно немножечко отдохнуть

За забором  живуть

мечтательные поросёнок и мама-свинья

как это может иногда быть

You, Who Was I

Arms couldn’t hold. Eyes couldn’t hold.

Memories? There were none.

The surgeon dressed me for Halloween:

flour sack, doilies, shower cap.

You, he whispered in my ear, dear, you are not well.

Your baby, not well. But I wrapped his whole life,

I said. He was water, I was a well.

For days I pushed around a bell.

He repeated the part about baby, oh dear not well.

So I said: Cut! So he said: Cut!

Then I said: Wait! We didn’t have a date!

And he said: I’ll be careful! I know which parts!

And I said: cut him out, but will he be yours?

                                          

He didn’t think that was funny. Gave me a fan,

and we waltzed. A strange body commingled,

parts scuttled, and cackled, and jingled;

some, like family in an exam room, ended up by a curtain,

others, in the parallel world, where the surgical team

giggled re: football. This was so routine.

In five minutes, I was handed a person.

Unfathomable, cinnamon-hued, blue-

eyed, huge for his age. Specific and true.

Eyes couldn’t hold. What did I think I knew?

Soft burning heat of a world passing through.

We’ll have so much fun, I said to you.

Most awe commands humble

Crouching beside, thorough

Observation; may pounce without notice.

In most cases, ends without one too.

This one lets you take it in your lap,

Kicking: Where’s the doggie

I was holding!?   Lets your lips

Smell its warm freshly baked hair,

Curly and flying in your face.

You forget where the other organs

Even are.

Remember how you let reverence

Into your own belly? Wasn’t that hilarious?

The innermost: a negotiable resource,

A social space, where, for example, you held a dance –

As it turned out – one more time…

So now your belly now thank God alone,

But here is a subtle thin painful vacancy,

And here is the throne,

The warm outer hollow

Where the prince –

Might sit.

O what sighs, when you fill this new space.

More peaceful than post-coital bliss,

Because it’s not post-. You belong, the body whispers!

Against the simple fact that the source

Of all this awe is now ever more moveable,

And as time goes along, will not belong

For much longer – to you – to anyone else;

Against more such thoughts, and most odds.

Inner Child

Funny man,

not so tiny anymore,

dancing by the ribcage,

feet rapping my hips,

is this what you want – to stretch

into my limbs?

You’d dance then more fully:

mom would be your big puppet.

You’d squash me, then mold me

in your image.

Would I want you to wiggle out?

But at least then I’d know

what you are doing, darling,

rather than lie in the liquid, knocking

darkness, half-guessing

what a circus it is to be Mother,

what roles we will play for each other:

when the cord is cut, such battles are fought,

such cheap comedies played—then, how soon the night!

When we are separate people,

we will think this duet had been simple:

me, just a skirt with a flounce,

curling and uncurling around

your sleeping and breathing dances.

In Russian

Хорошо забытое детство просыпается

внутри неё. Живёт каких-нибудь девять месяцев,

но всё явственней чувствует себя забытым

на ярмарке или в магазине.

И снится ей беспощадно, и снится,

пока не становится

дрожащей в руке синицей.

А пока ему бы её ударить - прыгнуть

в себя. Узнать, почему небо ноет ,

зачем пол хочет вытолкнуть,

если любит.  Где путь

к приглушённому звуку, 

что играет со светом в прятки? Зачем

кожей чуешь – вот, жизнь устала,

но любит и любит тебя

и поэтому пытается выпихнуть?

И как же ты будешь жить один

и думать об этом следующие лет восемьдесят,

когда придётся тщательно

забывать себя самозабвенно

на ярмарке или в магазине?