| |
It
is all right. All they do
Is go in by dividing
One
rib from another. I wouldn't
Lie to you. It
hurts
Like nothing I know. All they do
Is burn
their way in with a wire.
It forks in and out a
little like the tongue
Of that frightened garter
snake we caught
At Cloverfield, you and me,
Jenny
So long ago.
I would lie to you
If I
could.
But the only way I can get you to come
up
Out of the suckhole, the south face
Of the
Powhatan pit, is to tell you
What you
know:
You come up after dark, you poise
alone
With me on the shore.
I lead you back to
this world.
Three lady doctors in Wheeling
open
Their offices at night.
I don't have to call
them, they are always there.
But they only have to
put the knife once
Under your breast.
Then they
hang their contraption.
And you bear it.
It's
awkward a while. Still it lets you
Walk about on
tiptoe if you don't
Jiggle the needle.
It might
stab your heart, you see.
The blade hangs in your
lung and the tube
Keeps it draining.
That way they
only have to stab you
Once. Oh Jenny.
I wish
to God I had made this world, this scurvy
And
disastrous place. I
Didn't, I can't bear
it
Either, I don't blame you, sleeping down
there
Face down in the unbelievable silk of
spring,
Muse of the black sand,
Alone.
I
don't blame you, I know
The place where you lie.
I
admit everything. But look at me.
How can I live
without you?
Come up to me, love,
Out of the
river, or I will
Come down to you.
James
Wright
Read poems about / on: snake,
alone,
river,
spring,
world,
dark,
god,
night,
sleep
|
|
User Rating: |
|
10.0 /10
(5 votes) |
|
|
|
James Wright 
Free Poetry E-Book: 31 poems of
James Wright
E-mail this poem to e
friend