Wednesday’s Child

                         

                        1  

The sea is undulous. Hazard outweighs the bouquet

of bright islands you see ----everything turns

cold and watery. Arch of dawn, its bruised throat---and under the wind’s screech

a Siren’s restive song. Her hair in your mouth.  Boat pushing south.

                    

                        2

Once was Wednesday  I was born

in my parents’ unmarried bed: March in me, and its outrageous moods.

The month of fish and detritus, of snow-drift and holy bodies sloughing

scabs and steeples, trusting the other to taste his grace, drink her pearlblue,

make fastidious work of the birth---Eve’s cast-off pain, Adam’s glistening

tongue. A blood-sting and dankstink. Wednesday’s mute

message (the apple, Eden’s crooked tree). Born to the blind freeze of squall, my father’s

eyes wide.

                That ancient look

 incendiary book and bond

                of tit the pinkslit-mouth

 the dewy breath

                Ides’ baby rooting

                her blind look.

                                3

What sets us all sail: the north wind’s shell-hymn,

Wednesday’s seasick ballerinas and damp gravesides. Brimstone song:

God shoots to kill.  (Still the tumbling prayer, the smoking choir, lilies and blizzards.)

Paddle like hell but sweetheart---he never misses.