POMEGRANATE, DAUGHTER
Little tadpole, if that, even -- little blood seed,
little month, little pomegranate, daughter.
I write to put you
back into the world. I scooped a hole
in myself -- a handful, less, a dimple
that might cover a quick-sprout seed. And now,
like the empty pitcher, grieve.
DUCTUS
How should grief be addressed
if not to the one
not taking delivery, the one who does not
look up from her coffee, the one who will not
come to the door. There are letters layered
in the horsehair of old walls, letters under
the soft place in the floor. There is a hole
in the heart
that should close early.
Address this letter
there.
A FUNERAL WITH PLUMES AND LIGHTS
To be a woman is to be a gate of blood.
So you left in much attended procession.
To weep is forbidden, though you entered
in something like tears.
_________________
Do I need to make notes? I suppose. "Pomegranate" is in glancing reference to that great mother/daughter story, Ceres and Persephone. I once wrote a (bad, early) chapbook with the title "Eating Pomegranates," and despite that still can't spell it. The ductus is (I think?) the technical name for the "hole in the heart that should close early." The title "a funeral with plumes and lights" is from Tennyson's "The Lady of Shallot" -- it's one of the things she sees in the mirror.
I like this, especially the very 'chewiness' of the language in the first poem.
Sorry, chewy was the first word that came to mind. :-)