Door in the Mountain: New and Collected Poems, 1965-2003

The Church

The Church “Thank you for the food,” we said, it was mashed potatoes, gravy, this was the place the regular people came, to go through the regular funnel. Leaving I saw———and his red candle of “find it.” My life. * * * I couldn’t he couldn’t Father I’m twenty Whiskey marriage Children whiskey * * * Alcohol alcohol alcohol two children hungry depression’s lead box no air to breathe Our therapist: “You’re married to a brilliant man, you just have to accept it.” * * * I was dark and silent. The therapist said, the cradle of the real life 269 “Why don’t you wear lipstick?” To J: “Does she lie on top?” To J: “Don’t play her role. Don’t give the children their baths or feed them.” * * * The soul has no ‘other afternoon’ amiga gold We then bandage her feet as she steps down and down past where her parents pray for her two still dark figures kneeling in Gemini Here there is no language Drink cut my wrists drink take bad pills into the locked ward take good pills can’t feel can’t or speak or step doctors looking down a well The Locked Ward: O.T. Poster paints, big brushes like my girls’ kindergarten brushes: 270 door in the mountain ...