Scarlet's Poetry Den "The Early Years"

a Child meets Mother (Listen to the poem in RealAudio G2)

i. the where

rough wood
this cabin
neatly fitted
jigsaw - crude
elemental

outside buzz of leaves
windshimmer

wind hums a lullaby
stirs the autumn colour-riot
- gold red orange green
dull ochre carpet
a saltsprinkle
year's first trace of snow

ii. pedigree

in this primal cradle
I want to join with earth
make my legs roots
arms branches
fingers leaves

claim me, Mother
for I am of thee
released from citycage
from the greased gears
of anonymous machines

for I live in the city also
of grey concrete & streets
rusty girders & crane claws

I am also of the smoke dirt grease & stench
of stacked flourescent boxes & central heating

I am of the war
against you Mother

but now, here
rock me in this cradle
of trees
caress with wind/grass
wash with rain

I can love you only as Child
with ignorant faith of Child

no time could teach eyes
to fathom your secrets
my unseen roots have kept my flesh
healthy, fed

* * *

molten ice of cities twisted
dotted with long estranged
daisies adorn the corpse

Mother is ever just waits lets game play itself
offers no resistance
serene with the broken dignity of a rape victim

I'm the charge of nursemaid technology
nameless featureless numbered

is this my heritage
my inheritance
my birthright?

here, rocked with the trees
in the cradle:
There is no god.
There are no sylphs, faeries, naiads, or angels.

It is too cold for mythology.

This is southern Ontario.
I am with the fir, maple and elm.
It is trying to snow.
The air is icy chill.
I am not a tree.
I love my parents.

* * *

slow death of autumn
creeps into my bones
chalkgrey of fogdusk

iii. Child contemplates

if I scream
the wind
would catch
my shriek
in a butterfly net

if I fell
the dull thud
silenced
by sponge soil

tense thick air
like lessons
lurk in shadows
falling leaves
& outhouses

I keep the lake behind my back
because it's chalk grey like a blackboard
& I want to run away

but only other place is where
it reeks of city warning danger smell

& I feel trapped naked

iv. a new day Child gains perspective

MOTHER why!?
bring me out of my time
wrench me beyond my moments

I, an atom
of generation molecule
in human element

why these blazing visions
why am I here? I am now

I have no guilt or sin

not allowed faery tales sand castles or gods
nor am I holy
never allowed but a cradle and a cage
cradle and cage!

is this what you offer me?
is this what you leave me?

I rock
with questions
I sea
in tempest

* * *

I don't
recall any
nightmares
night
a black
I shake
wake with
no memory

only the winds
whisper
in null nothing
void black no
nothing not
even stars

& I try to write
but my mind
womb-blank baby's

nestle
rock
sway

I have no name
wind whispers
trees' dull tinkles
now no anger
no fear now

only because of this gas lamp
I see at all in these thick nights

* * *

& once you said I could
take a recess
& you would let me dream nice
& You lied

1st it was the little faeries & chipmunks
& warm water lakes for swimming
& I could play naked
& love You like walden

then woodsman comes
I will not be fooled
he is too handsome
too strong

& i promise to myself again i will
scream and tell you i will not bear
any more bastards will not be a pawn
carrying other pawns
& i want to scream this & i tell myself i
will worry about it tomorrow
& disturbing your silence &
i'm still angry because i know
i never will & i know i love you
& i know i hate you & that probably doesn't matter
& my only sin is not being your natural blood
not being your primitive & animal
my sin is being polluted with the city
being human & i hate You for making me
think that is bad

v. Child defines home

It is 1978.
I am female.
I am young.
I am in the wilds of southern Ontario.
I am alone.

cottage floor board creaks
cozy odor-glow of gas lamp
tell me that I belong here
this is my home
I should stay
they beckon

ground is base
where I am always
immutable absolute
but then I wonder
if I'm closer to this tree
or the whole forest
& I can't argue either

then I wonder if
I look more like this tree
or this tree
& have to decide I don't care

I am even if:
There are bed bugs.
I burnt my fingers lighting the gas lamp.
I forgot my gloves.
The heater is not warm enough.
It is Thanksgiving weekend.

vi. Child leaves

a must-leave monday morning
sun finally out
purifies these colours
washes them clean
wine-clear
wind quieter
thoughts banalize

* * *

pulled beyond my dimensions
rubber soul I am the elastic
Mother shoots at Moloch's ass

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