on editing and sadness
You must put your hand on the tummy just right
to turn the breached baby around.
I wonder how to put a breach in time do I have the strength to really reach into Ophelia’s ribcage to touch that hot lecturing device of the hours and rip it out?
I just ripped out “Ugly Fish” which was the heart of this book.
Should I put it back in or poke it with a knife?
Across a dark divide the ugly fish waves its tiny fins
each one signalling the end
perhaps the end of suffering or the end of an afternoon’s play
she cries to me from beyond this book’s failure
and says, Peggy, it is possible that you are already what you desire
the trauma that is not yours does not make you immune
I swim inside your tears that are a fraction of a drop
inside a sea of terror
the fire that quenches itself in your love’s watery asthma
the fire that waits in the taut eardrum, generous dead mother
it remembers no center
no circle of unity or pain