Newspaper Archive of
The Texas Sun
Buda, TX
December 11, 1975     The Texas Sun
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December 11, 1975

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FROM THE BATHROOM I hear her urine whisper with the water, Her flanks shudder, warm feces Afloat in the bowl, steaming islands-- The whirlpool, streaks On the porcelain, the large intestine Content as a python. Her smells hang in the air, drift Against her. Showersteam, soap, that ancient thing, the brain Drains through the skin, skin which is a million mouths That suck and spit. with a milh'on eyes that like to be closed To feel soft touches on their lid In China They built sanitariums Near waterfalls. The fogged mirror. She is watching her face Behind the vapor, and it is unformed, She is quiet. Peace fragrant As freshly washed hair. ...then she walked into the bedroom, a towel in her hand. Each step left a damp track, the arch cut away. "'WOMEN I KNOW WHO" DAYS OF SUMMEI;t, 19,53 h:tbeach, the gulls, long da- s, days turn slowly, as if on a spit-- A thousand shoulders, a thousand thighs-- The meat of our world, and we choke on it. 'l ere I was bern Women hung their wash on lines that webbed the alleys, Fat women Leaning on their windowsills with their fat elbows Shouting gossip, curses, the names of their children Good women With sharp tongues and jealousies Strong hands and loyalties. They were my father's sisters, who took me to my first beach That they called ' ky Beach', because the sea there looked like shit. When we swam the filth was a silt on our skins, They'd take us to the cottage and wash us in the sink. The years... I empty them, A bey turning out his pock qts .,.. And my aunt said "Wha? What s all this trap?" String, acorns, a broken soldier. She scrubbed me in the sink and held out my penis She said "What's this?" and I said "My wee-wee" She laughed, and lathered me there gently. And we were put to bed, and on our knees repeated "Blessed Art Thou, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb," ritual words To the mother of their god, that pale god Baked on a stick in the sun-- Women I know who are bronze when they are naked, bronze But pale-breasted pale flanks and pale About the hair, as though a darkness Was peeled off them there as though An awful thing had been done-- Women I know who weight their long fingers with stones Metals bright at their wrists Stones cut of earth Metals squeezed of stone Bodies of clear nakedness as of dear water Shoulders that balance the bright orb of memory Like a goblet, a penis Made of clay, the blue, clay that I played with, A small penis like with little tight With hai rs that they d snipped from their underarms-- They showed it to me they were so pleased-- And the years dry upon you-- The leavings on your sheets Collect like coral-- Guadalu