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Night Porch
- Wesleyan University Press
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with men inside, and at home, wives, and depression’s black dogs walking out of the January hedges’ hacked-off sides. River Jordan O mud mother lick me before I die before I’m only a wooden case of disintegration disowned things and then—after this life— the scar part, the lily, the rose not descending? the eagle above the Wyoming road? with six-foot wings outspread . . . —No, not your mother either, this is me the one who kissed you on your lips, your nose, your stomach (secretly!), who carried you, it’s me who you belong to in reality. Night Porch Back home, after a month away leaning on my night porch what had I come to? out of air, nose at the glass: to this gold dress 222 door in the mountain Nose at the glass: sweet inside world where there was enough, enough, enough And here was my husband the grazer-beside, the distance sharer but not he, or I, but the inside angel held open the glass door, and led us led us . . . * World-light Do well in the world. If you do well we’ll throw you away. We’ll put you in the state asylum like we did your grandfather. (He did well then fell.) (“The drink.” “But harmless.”) But if you fall we’ll never say your name. They’ll think you’re dead. You will be one of the Disappeared. growing darkness, growing light 223 ...