From The Slaughterhouse: The Automobile Plant, and: What would come, and: After she couldn't see we couldn't see her

From The Slaughterhouse: The Automobile Plant

You wouldn't believe—that spinningtwo and two, your wider eyes: from the line of disassembly,

sticky conveyor belt, hands made for plucking and nothing else.These hands skin, those chop necks. From the idea of it—from the one two

one two, from the belly, from what stripped it of innards, from takenapart, to two and two, together. This is what made us.

To be driven proudly off the line, what was put in placeis moving, every shining piece, in place, every swinging door.

These hands are best at one thing one thing, they nail and nail, the samenail, made it, made us. The door swings out

swings in, this is what, the open road, road so openfalling over into grass. We go one way, one. No looking back, no back

to speak of, we have heard the dangerof a shoulder. We go one, we go one together, we want to be put,

we say, together, I have never been myself.

What would come

What would come? Slap ofMy glasses, my light, my name, my quilt thrown back, myPaper on the front stoop, somewhereIn there buried, was an old woman, you weren'tDown the ladder from my loft, my nameWho lived in a, not anymoreMy naked sleeping woken, my name throughThe door, my hurry, myShe had so manyGod, my what in the name, myWe didn't know, as the paper knewBody through smoke, my stairs, myWhat to doMy name, my thankForgive us ourGod, my out the front door, my flames twenty feetDeliver us from My inside, my left insideUncanny how sure you areIn the summer, when it's finishedAnd there you weren't

After she couldn't see we couldn't see her

We ran out of the house and all we could see was the dark window

I could see her in your father's face it was burnt he wasburning, he said where is she she was right with me

Wake up, we've done it before

At the airport we picked up your sister, she was holding on to your mother

I saw her last, your mother, she was wearing a red dressshe was leaning in the door frame, her body rustled dry in the dress

My little shack, a place to finish, in the summer I'll go there

Your sister was her face in the picture she carriedfrom the frame she was trapped in your sister she held her

Let my fairness burn the edges of your fields

On the plane, heard her say, on the plane I told them

Let it burn the center, let me be the force in your face when you wake

On the plane I told them this is my mother