the meek, the meek

i.
 
in him like the sewing needle of god’s mother; is lightning.
 
in you a koan.
 
ii.
 
now that she wants the surgery removed
they tell her
the womb
is a hook
that looks like a womb.
 
iii.
 
everywhere work.
stalks
pitch
 
the golden blood
of brooms.
 
iv.
 
mother in her rocker
her eyes
tire swings
her tongue
 
a cat’s tail.
 
v.
 
fourteen
my sister
martyrs herself
under the monkey
mad
in the stoplight.
 
vi.
 
in a church
hangs a coat
with a man
in it.
 
vii.
 
does not break loose
like they say
 
all hell.

visitation

the children
in a dry tub
     their shed clothes
tight
at the necks
of dolls.
 
     crash
of mother
in the kitchen
fathers
 
in different cars
aiming
for bottles.
 
god inhabits
a plaything
     separates
each finger.
 
the oldest
puts one hand
on his head
and forces it down.
 
the youngest
comes up for water.
 
the middle
child
 
on his way home
from school
yesterday
 
saw the devil
prying horns
from a tree
 
and felt very much alone.

mother, rewrites

she will claim

channel 7     1973

had
 both
  god

& static.

that from a hole
in the ceiling
a man’s mouth
whispered
then
spit

                at her
                on the couch.

she will
put you

on the prayer chain.  you will be watching tv

the phone will ring

                it’s William
                but you can call me Bill.

mother this is just.
mother this is just.  a way
 
of
keeping.

                you know
she stood there
with her military
man

and could feel
the baby
                so okay

with dying.

a precise kingdom

the thing inside

     a bullet my brother

made up. I shot you while you

slept.  then clicked his thumb

down.

**

      if you run away I will break

favorite

lines

      you speak of war.

**

alone, loaded up with light. in that room

the bus drove by.

     the baby’s head is orange the plastic

broken

arm of the most coveted

     toy

          also orange.

**

brother I understand

     this city named

you.  I ask the locals

     a better word          they hand me

license plates.

**

the bone car dead behind you.
the small

     unique

     body of your daughter
          back in the states.

you crush it, into your side, it stays

with you, it’s a fragile

spear.  badly made.

**

          it stays with you, a child’s tooth in the pillow.

     bite mark on a cloud.  dream of exit

before entering          the bar          where the local argument

is more about
how far you ran
with a headless

doll.

Barton D Smock