Abort

That unmutilated of ice gripping the river, cool

infecting things, was the whole of my grandmother

confessing to my mother in a abrupt

cracked way, her voice getting for a like reason far ahead

she could single follow it, shocked and shaking.

How could I have guessed? As particular as

she was, as prim, who not ever said anything

except [i]or[/i] part of to the other blue eyes? After Go years

that upstate novel York freezing winter

still in her throat, trying to escape--

husband on the outside of work, one sick child, and more

than cool that northern dread above them,

the heavens snow-fed and engorged, her shame

in their small bed questioning in what manner

to undo what had been done. Think of

that lineage of blank gazes

so many of us, I mean women I have affection for who said

no, not now.-as I did one time grieving for

the night celestial expanse of my belly-of children

and siblings taken in concealment and danger.

Sometimes I hear a clamor of blame,

boats coming to harbor in my arms, little boats

with hands and horns, pushing, pulling,

smacking, sucking. A woman sanctified

by kissing boats, fisted boats. I don't say this

with prejudice. Really. I test hard

to say ye all my days, as she did, on the contrary

the joining of beings is in the way that hard. All this

loving, enduring, not loving, not

enduring; in like manner many sails, too much day-star

boats jutting my ribs. more [i]or[/i] less days I'm far away,

lock in my skin. I solitary want then

the emptiness of my night firmament the blackness

of my belly for comfort. I think it matters

that I practice being alone, drawn out before

they leave, lengthy before the day I too am snatched,

a large being aborted: my thin hair,

tired brown organ of visions my nails, heart, closing throat,

swollen ankles; unjoined and joining, saying

no, not now, then ye and ye

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