Grandpa Charlie
Charles Henry Leahy wanted his
Mission-style portico-ed fancy-swirled
trowel work 3-story house
not too far from dirt-scratch starvation
potato famine emigration
bootleg sweetened his candy & cigar biz
whiskey shipped in steamer trunks
by his cousin in kilts from the north
whiskey easier than kindness for a man with daughters
Grandpa’s house coffin tight in wrought iron balconies
arched windows to die for and his red tile roof
our mother too well-fed for her father’s brother’s uncle’s taste
lard ass and fatso spewed at her pretty, adolescent face
his liver-building scars made of sturdy
Scottish short bread and rage
she hustled at billiards with her brother’s handsome friend
a smart hand at bridge, to him she looked thin enough
a war bride, those winning shots at pool
brilliant auburn curls, Cupid’s bow smile
her psyche wasn’t blind to his aquiline nose
above Valentino lips
eyes the morning sea below clear skies
she could only acquiesce to his pedigreed desire
hooked him with her corner shot in cardigans and pearls
yet she, alas, humorless, Jack and Jim sequestered loves
closeted as nuns, a couple of beach bums for fun
she never gave them up or tendered her surrender
never whup a man at any game, she said to my surprise
we puzzled that, competitive as rams
too late for her, too late for us
she too had set her sights on a fine fine house
I wonder at my heritage of women selling out
such a cost? my buttery tastes? my fine fine house
Monday, August 16, 2010
Yet another cabin poem # z 1971
In the cabin that spring soon as I was pregnant
you took up with Light-haired Sandy—
the men started dropping by just to see
hoping I was loose since everyone knew
I was a fool not knowing you did
whatever you did with her—she, pretty
strawberry blonde all about her hair
creamy skin and tall flat-bellied body
brain-dead as a milk can but that didn’t stop you
When Denny showed up instead of you one night
I still didn’t get it—he asked if I was lonesome
hung around a bit, mentioned how with you
in town a lot—he’d been wondering
Light-haired’s step-brother-in-law
I had no desire for him or
a good dose of trouble with his gang-y girlfriend
Light-hair’s step-sister, Dark-haired Sandy
I may as well have fallen on my sword cuz she
sure enough would’ve cut me up like a carcass
Geronimo found reasons to check on his cows
milling around the valley, most of which was his
but me and him, no way possible—his 60 something
wife Amalia would’ve shot me through the eyes
had him bury me without a prayer or a single fare thee well
besides, he was laughably old—had me walk on ice with him
and I could see the plan, he grabbing my arm as I inevitably
slipped
Fermin, of course, had come calling before your indiscretion
telling me at the woodpile how much we’d need, how
winters in Vallecitos were nothing to make light of
He knew it was a no cuz I’d snubbed him every time
I had to pass his house for access to the gorge—
the back way to our place in the valley below
One sunny day after walking the high road in to check the mail
buy tortillas at Willy’s, say hi, maybe, to the Sandys
Fermin jumped out from behind a big boulder
along the deep gorge path. He held my arms and
shook me a little as if I were a piggy bank. “Oh for God’s
sake, Fermin,—stop it!” He asked me then, another tack
could he and a few of his cousins come down to the cabin
and rape me some night. “No,” I answered carefully
learning a shit load about his culture in that one question
“No, I wouldn’t like that” looking right at him, my eyes an open blade
He looked down since eye contact was verboten. “Ok,” he said
“I thought maybe you’d want us to do that. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” I told him, as if he were a child, already summoning up
the teacher voice inside me; I could finally hear her
in the quiet of that canyon
Perhaps she had said yes lifetimes ago, to the wrong man
I getting the second chance she hadn’t been afforded
What I loved so much of you was when you smiled lying next to me
What I loved so much when alone were the rose hips
on that sunny trail, the creek, deep and cool, winding
around glorious boulders, leaves floating downstream
through Aspen groves, the fields between our tiny cabin
and the creek, the hill beside us
with the brown bear scrambling up at sunset
Jesus, even beavers at the meadow where we first landed
and men who took no for an answer—no one spoiled that place for me
I love that you gave me a sewing machine, a trunk, and my son
and how I learned through you to say no with authority
you took up with Light-haired Sandy—
the men started dropping by just to see
hoping I was loose since everyone knew
I was a fool not knowing you did
whatever you did with her—she, pretty
strawberry blonde all about her hair
creamy skin and tall flat-bellied body
brain-dead as a milk can but that didn’t stop you
When Denny showed up instead of you one night
I still didn’t get it—he asked if I was lonesome
hung around a bit, mentioned how with you
in town a lot—he’d been wondering
Light-haired’s step-brother-in-law
I had no desire for him or
a good dose of trouble with his gang-y girlfriend
Light-hair’s step-sister, Dark-haired Sandy
I may as well have fallen on my sword cuz she
sure enough would’ve cut me up like a carcass
Geronimo found reasons to check on his cows
milling around the valley, most of which was his
but me and him, no way possible—his 60 something
wife Amalia would’ve shot me through the eyes
had him bury me without a prayer or a single fare thee well
besides, he was laughably old—had me walk on ice with him
and I could see the plan, he grabbing my arm as I inevitably
slipped
Fermin, of course, had come calling before your indiscretion
telling me at the woodpile how much we’d need, how
winters in Vallecitos were nothing to make light of
He knew it was a no cuz I’d snubbed him every time
I had to pass his house for access to the gorge—
the back way to our place in the valley below
One sunny day after walking the high road in to check the mail
buy tortillas at Willy’s, say hi, maybe, to the Sandys
Fermin jumped out from behind a big boulder
along the deep gorge path. He held my arms and
shook me a little as if I were a piggy bank. “Oh for God’s
sake, Fermin,—stop it!” He asked me then, another tack
could he and a few of his cousins come down to the cabin
and rape me some night. “No,” I answered carefully
learning a shit load about his culture in that one question
“No, I wouldn’t like that” looking right at him, my eyes an open blade
He looked down since eye contact was verboten. “Ok,” he said
“I thought maybe you’d want us to do that. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” I told him, as if he were a child, already summoning up
the teacher voice inside me; I could finally hear her
in the quiet of that canyon
Perhaps she had said yes lifetimes ago, to the wrong man
I getting the second chance she hadn’t been afforded
What I loved so much of you was when you smiled lying next to me
What I loved so much when alone were the rose hips
on that sunny trail, the creek, deep and cool, winding
around glorious boulders, leaves floating downstream
through Aspen groves, the fields between our tiny cabin
and the creek, the hill beside us
with the brown bear scrambling up at sunset
Jesus, even beavers at the meadow where we first landed
and men who took no for an answer—no one spoiled that place for me
I love that you gave me a sewing machine, a trunk, and my son
and how I learned through you to say no with authority
Facing the Doldrums
my marriage the differential of him over me
the cube roots of nothing makes sense—
two negatives multiplied worked for a while
throw in the curves of painted rooms
shopping trips, holding close then closer
tricky math doesn’t give a when or where—
I’m coming apart like a sweater, a season
snipped too close at the knot
a French seam carelessly bound
geometrically irregular, like cancer creeps
spilled jam, sticky fruit juice
I’m wasted to my day—useless to myself
celebrations made uneasy by missing the point
screwing up turns, mistaking stay for leave
and bring for take
I’m a machine-stitched hem gone crooked
something vertically unsaid
Penelope, unravel my brain, this damned carpet
hurts me; the pattern of scratchy rejection
lovers in cold constellations orbiting like dogs
Penelope, did he console you
beg you overlook his dalliance with sirens
bacchanalian guy stuff with grapes and gorgons
you tied his name into your weft as error
a prayer to your household Gods
my gods give me code
the square footage of plane wings
empty apartments, apart
I measure out string to weave
reweave to conceal imperfections
nod to the planetary bodies lying, barking
Penelope, you waited so nobly for word
any sign, as you stayed and stayed
wearing your crown in your castle
demons be gone—
if you are human be gone
only solitude is mine
this sitting at the loom
weaving choice and time
the cube roots of nothing makes sense—
two negatives multiplied worked for a while
throw in the curves of painted rooms
shopping trips, holding close then closer
tricky math doesn’t give a when or where—
I’m coming apart like a sweater, a season
snipped too close at the knot
a French seam carelessly bound
geometrically irregular, like cancer creeps
spilled jam, sticky fruit juice
I’m wasted to my day—useless to myself
celebrations made uneasy by missing the point
screwing up turns, mistaking stay for leave
and bring for take
I’m a machine-stitched hem gone crooked
something vertically unsaid
Penelope, unravel my brain, this damned carpet
hurts me; the pattern of scratchy rejection
lovers in cold constellations orbiting like dogs
Penelope, did he console you
beg you overlook his dalliance with sirens
bacchanalian guy stuff with grapes and gorgons
you tied his name into your weft as error
a prayer to your household Gods
my gods give me code
the square footage of plane wings
empty apartments, apart
I measure out string to weave
reweave to conceal imperfections
nod to the planetary bodies lying, barking
Penelope, you waited so nobly for word
any sign, as you stayed and stayed
wearing your crown in your castle
demons be gone—
if you are human be gone
only solitude is mine
this sitting at the loom
weaving choice and time
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