Three Domestic Poems

Three Domestic Poems


Dead Rat in the Garden

I really knew what woke me—yes
the pigeons moving, along the ledge of the window.

The world outside bound by a warm bandage,
our garden was to the rat, home

I did not tell her the rat was dead, last night
laying there in the garden for her to see.

So she killed it with the poison she buried,
and scolded me today, for not warning her. I think

I wanted her to see it—before I did.


#2143 1-11-2008


Divorced, but Cured


I thought that if you divorced me, how terrible,
I’d not die though; my body simply vanishes,

my voice, even my face, gone, all alone
in some still room, I’d have to call home.

I was eliminated, but became stronger
absence makes one ponder—who we are;

disillusioned I was. Now came your man chasing
shaking it out, like a flock of feathers;

you didn’t quite want to hurt—but you did.

#2144 1-12-2008

Spring Cleaning

My mother cleaned the house as if she was a solider, moving everything here and there, Spring Cleaning she’d call it, with regard for the season. She would have me drag those old rugs outside, put them over the cloths lines, beat them to death with a broom, awkward I felt, (looked about to see whom was looking, and beat them like a punching bag), dust flew in my face and hair. And then she’d take the curtains down, wash them, and then onto the walls, she washed them also. And in the midst of it all, she moved the beds, stripped them clean, and I’d have to clean the dust out of the corners; then onto wiping the windows down, the sills; putting on those screens, over the windows. I was a bit disoriented in all this, but she was inextinguishable.

#2144 1-12-2008 Note: This all took place back in the 50s and 60s, in St. Paul, Minnesota.




























Trujilio, Peru 2005 (Dennis & Rosa along the Ocean Front)