MUDLARK No. 1 (1995) ISSN 1081-3500 Copyright (c) MUDLARK 1995 Editor: William Slaughter E-Mail: mudlark@unf.edu URL: http://www.unf.edu/mudlark __________________________________________________ TWELVE OF ONE by VALERIE ANTHONY Contents Turtle Knowledge The Upper Hand Credo Laying on of Hands Feast of Prisoners in a Meadow Near Loneliness Danger Zones Awaiting Flight Saturday Night Trilogy What It Takes Bury the Dead I Am Calling You from a Distance When Life Shifts and You Tread Air __________________________________________________ TURTLE KNOWLEDGE They stand over me deciding what to do The older boy with the stick jabs at my underbelly to see if I bend I have pulled into myself pretending I am not here If they leave me on my back I will become stone a part of these woods that does not move forever that will outlast small menaces Soon they will be called home to greasy steaks and tater tots To their domain of blurred screens in dusty trailer parks still not knowing how things work On my back and defenseless I am everything that escapes THE UPPER HAND There's anger but he keeps it in certain places If he loses his hand it does things and they hurt So he holds it with his other CREDO I know only one passage from the bible I Corinthians 13 but I take it to heart What is holy is circular what is holy bends, is kind I am not Catholic know nothing of the catechism that led you to renunciation yet with your eyes looking back, always toward a haunting god and angels with sharp fingers Still, where mercy is concerned I bow humbled by the lesson of hands like yours made rough with the hard works of comfort LAYING ON OF HANDS You are more like wonder than the sky gazing over me descending light everywhere Old wounds vanish beneath your fingers as they trace my bones drawing out the woman who lives under this skin Learning to fall is an art To rest in the hands that catch us harder still FEAST OF PRISONERS IN A MEADOW NEAR LONELINESS Singling one out and laying it on her palm the root of the weed is a surprise to her I didn't know there was so much to them, she says as he turns over on his side his back to her People, she says have fed off such things Prisoners, for instance, with nothing better to live on Maybe it was the root that sustained them not the thorny leaves, surely but what was underneath a reason to put your hands deeper into dirt Imagine it--fields and fields of people digging into things, digging into people, always digging DANGER ZONES 1. Your heart is flying, he said his weight against her chest It does that, she said drawing him in 2. You walked me along your perfected edges taking me in your stride A fool for interiors I asked to be let in This will not hurt, I promised Just you wait, you said 3. We shouldn't do this she says I know, I know he answers pulling her back down under the crumpled sheets And it would have been perfect if it could have been completely different AWAITING FLIGHT Wanting to connect with the waitress at the airport cafe I don't know how to tell her what it is I want She lays down a menu and is gone "Coffee," I say when she returns and "please" to her already turned back as she scuttles to the next table: another grounded traveler drinking his solitary tea his story intact, no one to tell He meets my eye and we both glance quickly to opposite windows as if there was someone there SATURDAY NIGHT TRILOGY 1. Movement Gin crazy Pretty body, you say as if through glass your meaning thick, garbled undefining me So I move and that movement holds you till you shudder then move away defined 2. Sleeping with Reckless Men Puts a twist in the sheets and upsets nearby furniture Leaving you as your mind rolls by And you never run out of things to not say 3. This is not Love Before dawn I reconsider the question hashing it out while you sleep it off And, no this has nothing to do with love But I thought I felt in the blur of need something stir Now you turn over and we try again WHAT IT TAKES 1. Stray Dog Lament I have circled this block all morning I have traveled years back to when voices were kinder and I did not repel what I love most 2. Love Letters of Wayward Girls Wayward girls who lead with the chin through their lives write love letters that are never signed or sent but are tucked away beneath french lace and hose with runs 3. On the Ride at the Haytonville Fair You and I spinning ever faster past that summerŐs prime before the ride wound down the season severed 4. What It Takes to Leave You Guts Swift legs And a mind for other matters BURY THE DEAD Going to your father's funeral and knowing you would be there You, who had buried him years ago I entered the hall like a warrior weapon drawn: my anger at long last greater than my fear of ancient words like "father" Ready to engage and win and most of all to get even Approaching, you said My own daughter and I didn't even recognize her Then suggesting I might look you up sometime you slid your business card into my hand I held that card all through the service until, making my way into the already passing afternoon I released my grip and let your gesture flutter to its final resting place I AM CALLING YOU FROM A DISTANCE For years I rarely thought of you until someone would ask Do you have any sisters? And I would pause having to place you before I could speak And then I would recall how as young girls we vowed to never, ever marry but grow old together I do not even know where you live Tonight I fold and unfold the letter in my hands making the creases sharper until they soften and tear A friend writes that he has seen you on a street in New York Noonday, you all in tattered black white face, red lips held tight the veil of your hat the only thing moving as you wait for the light to change People draw aside to get a better look at you An oddity even there An exquisite bag lady with nothing in your hands The operator connects me to the first of many LA Anthonys (Is that still your name?) It takes seven rings for a woman's voice to answer Hello. Is that you? WHEN LIFE SHIFTS AND YOU TREAD AIR It is a matter of what to hold onto Books are good they have weight Music is equilibrium And planting seeds in a space of needy earth reminds you that things do go on And people can be anchors unless, of course they are shifting, too __________________________________________________ A-NOTE Valerie Anthony is a playwright as well as a poet. She received an Individual Artist's Grant for playwriting from the Florida Arts Council in 1994. Her play, LAND OF THE DOUBLEWIDES, was produced at the Florida Studio Theatre in Sarasota this summer, 1995. She is presently a University Fellow in the English Department at Florida State University. Anthony writes fiction too. From "Lash," one of her stories: "There is only her breath and mine now, hanging in the air. Saying things." The TWELVE Anthony poems, hanging in the air in MUDLARK No. 1, have that same breathing, doubled, in them. "Saying things." __________________________________________________ COPYRIGHT (C) MUDLARK 1995 All rights revert to the author upon publication. Texts distributed by MUDLARK may not be republished for profit in any form without express consent of the author and notification of the editor but may be freely circulated, among individuals, for personal use providing this copyright statement is included. Public archiving of complete issues only, in electronic or print forms, is permissible, providing no access fee is charged.