Belly Song (for the Daytop Family)

“You have made somethingOut of the sea that blewAnd rolled you on its salt bitter lips.It nearly swallowed you.But I hearYou are tough and harder to swallow than most . . .”

—S. Mansfield

1 And I and I / must admit that the sea in you    has sung / to the sea / in me and I and I / must admit that the sea in me   has fallen / in love   with the sea in you because you have made something out of the sea    that nearly swallowed you

And this poem This poem This poem / I give / to you. This poem is a song / I sing / I sing / to you from the bottom    of the sea      in my belly

This poem This poem This poem / is a song / about FEELINGS about the Bone of feeling about the Stone of feeling   And the Feather of feeling

2 This poem This poem This poem / is / a death / chant and a grave / stone and a prayer for the dead:   for young Jackie Robinson a moving Blk / warrior who walked among us   with a side / stride—and heavy heels moving moving moving thru the blood and mud and shit of Vietnam moving moving moving thru the blood and mud and dope of America    for Jackie / who was /

a song and a stone and a Feather of feeling    now dead and / gone / in this month of love

This poem This poem / is / a sliver feather and the sun-god / glinting / green hills breathing river flowing—for Sheryl and David—and their first / kiss by the river—for Mark and Sue and a Sunday walk on her grand / father’s farm for Sammy and Marion—love rhythms for Michael and Jean—love rhythms love / rhythms—love rhythms—and LIFE

3 This poem This poem This poem This poem / is / for ME—for me and the days / that lay / in the back of my mind when the sea / rose up /    to swallow me and the streets I walked    were lonely streets    were stone / cold streets

This poem This poem / is / for me / and the nights    when I wrapped my feelings   in a sheet of ice and stared    at the stars      thru iron bars       and cried in the middle of my eyes . . .

This poem This poem This poem / is / for me   and my woman   and the yesterdays when she opened   to me like a flower but I fell on her    like a stone I fell on her like a stone . . .

4 And now—in my 40th year   I have come here to this House of Feelings to this Singing Sea and I and I / must admit that the sea in me   has fallen / in love with the sea in you because the sea that now sings / in you   is the same sea that nearly swallowed you—   and me too.

Seymour, Connecticut
June 1971