SAVMUGALVM ISSN 0197-4777 = & 2 = = z S Z g =WATERWAYS: Poetry in the Mainstream July, 1996WATERWAYS: Poetry in the Mainstream Volume 17 Number 7 July, 1996 Designed, Edited and Published by Richard Spiegel & Barbara Fisher Thomas Perry, Assistant contents Ida Fasel 45 JoyHewittMann 12-15 John Grey 6 Geoff Stevens 16 Cathleen Cohen 7 David Michael Nixon 17 Alexandra Worcester. 8 Will Inman 18-20 ‘Terry Thomas 9 Stephen Sleboda 21 Joan Payne Kincaid 10 James Penha 22 Liz Walsh-Boyd Sheryl L. Nelms Sylvia Manning Kit Knight H. Edgar Hix Albert Huffstickler 23-24 25 26 27-28 29 30-32 Waterways is published 11 times a year, Subscriptions -- $20 a year. Sample issues -$2.60 (includes postage). Submissions will be returned only if accompanied by a stamped, self addressed envelope. Waterways, 393 St. Pauls Avenue, Staten Island, New York 10304-2127 © 1996, Ten Penny Players Inc. 1996 themes are pictographs from the WaLAM OLUM (An Epic of the Lenni Lenape). 2Simple Arithmetic Ida Fasel Not till the sixth day ~- life already rhythmic in space, swimming, flying, creeping -- in the diffused brightness of daylight and late creation aman anda woman For other story tellers atecomers, too, within the soundings of the first few seconds of Big Bang. My ears are not for reading dead bones. If Adam was an afterthought, then Eve was an after-afterthought. It made no difference. One flesh, centuries of children all going in different directions, afterthoughts of afterthought and after-afterthought in transition, incidents of cast light on leaves, light passing itself along in its own shade. ‘Aman and a woman. On the sixth day they appeared like Magritte’s rose too big for the room they were in, with only a finch’s eye for the 180 degree panorama of heaven, an occluded view of distance the farther out the flattening outin mauve-blue nondimension. Closeness gives perspective size, shape, tone, texture, all the raw material of depth Did they see themselves in the sequence of divine planned parenthood or as an unexpected idea interrupting the flow, a by-product of all that had gone before, reimagined from the rest? A major event in any case -- the beautiful leadings of a mind conversing with itself, stretching the field of attention by patterned marks, first day to next and soon adding up to six in a considered composition: aman and a woman perhaps an accidental touch, perhaps a delayed awareness of a need, perhaps even the signature of the maker himself in raised letters - at any rate here Iam, muzzy compounded me in the corner glad to be toted up in the simple arithmetic of celebration.Fish-Wife John Grey Down by the dock, salty incense pickles noses and that brash wind almost separates the fish-wives from their hair. At dusk, the boats return, two hundred yards out, it seems the waves are toting lanterns, or ghosts, but eventually, their eyes are filled by flesh, gruff men, soured on love, descending roughly onto shore. Fish in baskets, fish in drums, fish dumped on the jetty, loud and gray, ‘The women dream of wedding veils and oceans, of candles, and hooks, and a splattering of blood. From clean kitchens, they bend out of the window, tourist eyes riding with the boats or, at last, the movement of them, three-masted suggestion rocking endurance in and out of place. But the boats return, slow, surly, solemn, as if they haven't been anywhere, as if there is no place.Marriage Cathleen Cohen Last night my husband balanced the books. After two hours He lumbered through the door With a sweet grin And droopy shoulders, As though he had ‘swiveled a unicycle Across a thin line With the full weight Of the children and I Resting on his cervical column. He said he was at peace, Tam a disinterested cook, 1 do not hunger for special foods In my spare hours Or plan mouth-watering treats for the family Sometimes my neck bristles And Ispin around Certain that generations of matriarchs Point at me Whispering warnings in the half-dark That I don't honor bargains They made with their husbands, But mine doesn’t seem to care. We lie together in twilight; He reads, I watch shadows lengthen on the wall We listen as our sons Sing themselves to sleep.Pll Set Your Leve Upon My Mantel Alexandra Worcester Ihonor you with secret names and silent prayers, wrapped in the leaves of flowers you never give me. I don’t need flowers, you know that, instead you bring me fields of stone. Icome upon you now and then just to watch, I come upon you now to take your hand; wild weeds entangle our tongues, and dust shaken from coyote’s coat hovers like comfort...hovers like comfort, Tcome upon you nested in a bed of pine, a cross hatched pattern etched so deeply on your cheek small birds, mice and cottontails have left their footprints along its softfleshed paths. Tcome upon you singing out of tune, and your song is a hazard, and your voice is the voice of God; your tune carries the sun upon its shoulders, the moon asleep inside its belly. So come upon me now with your mouth of honey and dust. Instead of flowers, Til set your love upon my mantel, arrange its petals in the shape of forever, and admire it from afar,Rumors ‘Terry Thomas Heard a rumor you were getting married Gust passing words) barely heard, like butterfly wings brushing over dry lips. Rumors are like fragile lapines-can be nipped, never bud. But rumors can also be like dandelions-- wild and airy, flowing with golden blood, snug in the rich earth A rumor birthed yesterday-- butterflies and flowers started todie.The Couple Joan Payne Kincaid ‘They were like a cheap romantic potboiler ora sentimental film procrastination love that would last a life time to do all their dreams...but she married a man they had not ex- pected and now twenty years later the phonecall “How is she? J had this sense she is in trouble” we speak of his marriage the year before and you explain that she is confined to bed to try to save the child she carries for 3 more months and he asks if it’s ok to call her; some caring intention and links of feeling never come to an end, continuing themselves through distance, deepening with time and absence. 10Malcolm and Elizabeth Joy Hewitt Mann Through the spring streets This they share; of forsythia yellow he the eyes aman and woman walk she has never had, hand in hand, and she the decoder his eyes a reflection of her face. of his six month He tells her what he sees and she death song. replies with otology -- the sighing of branches as shadows lift from trees, the footsteps of the wind, the murmuring of daffodils nuzzled by heat.vill be attending...” Joy Hewitt Mann My face in the yearbook is speaking; its haircut two days old, lashes Vaselined, lips and cheeks reddened slightly, although the picture is in black and white, It says this face will soon be seen at Carleton University, studying Chemistry for a degree. The class editor had added, “Sweet & Petite.” In some restaurants in Taiwan male patrons receive a sheet of numbered photos with their menus. They pick a number and a girl comes to sit with them. The pictures are accompanied by descriptions: each girl's charms, her name, and her price. 12Breaking Up Joy Hewitt Mann In the great freeze of ‘36, they say, the elk died frozen in their tracks looking every bit like grazers to passersby, except there was no one to watch them slowly die, the already dead, limbs melting with the snow, when spring came bones bursting out like crocuses. 13. When you told me Iwas frozen like that, welded to the sidewalk by my pain, and all the passers by marveled how the flesh fell from my bones which crumbled one by one and yet I stood.Wet Joy Hewitt Mann Some nights the sky has claws and rain rips across your windows making those sounds that grate on your nerves and you hide out in bars that reek of stale beer and expensive perfume pocketed at Macy’s and everyone's pushing the wrong buttons when a fleshy girl rubs against your leg and smiles a gap-toothed smile and the music’s too loud and the place is too hot so you get too drunk to care and take her home anyway. Just like in high school. Fat girls always got laid.Memories of Walking Birds Joy Hewitt Mann It amazes me how seriously birds mate -- no lack of commitment there. Every grosbeak’s ready as a song to rouse above the turning ground, slide with solemn eyes into some female's unborn progeny and settle in the woody fibers of domesticity. 15 Through my window Isee her digging seed from last year’s grass, flying up to where he warms the eggs, waiting for regurgitation. And you ~ You're discharging in some dumb blond’s nest, unaware my digging fingers have rubbed raw and three month's vomit wastedHit for Six Geoff Stevens Boundaries are different things These boundaries are distinct to different people, in that they separate two lights, can be limited by cranium or skin, lights that glow individually can be auric, oral, visual, and yet have come to exist bounded by fences, only to illuminate each other’s source; mentally or physically. itis a mutual exchange across Some are clear cut boundaries, and others hazy; a crossing of a line that no longer two boundaries can stand together exists. yet give greater access than the absence of both. 16Lost in Blue Babbling Air David Michael Nixon. The blue counter is calling in Arabic. Still, Hindi and Hebrew answer. Every counter has a language; clients respond in many tongues. If you can’t hear each as your own, a miracle has gone missing, but language courses and a crack team of beautiful translators are sure to buoy your spirits, even if youre a sober merchant, lost in blue babbling air. aqLearning to Read Will Inman waves bells surges sounding once i learned to listen, i learned to read my first song was a rainbow my first story was a storm my first epic was a mountain my first lyric was a creek cold over stones hollyhocks and irises opened chapters isang choruses with bees then i met a woman whose tongue was a dry river i met a boy whose eyelids were wilted petals imet a man whose ears herded silences i met a dog whose nose could not track boundaries imet a child whose fingers were ghosts 18iwept i didn’t want there to be other ways than words, touches without hands, sounds that crouched forgotten under tongues. but the dumb one wrote down the blind one’s insights, the deaf one led the dog who couldn’t smell on a walk through stars, and the child without hands learned touch by being stroked by winds. in all of these an empty place grew full, a barrenness broke into bloom, and i who had been reading so long i'd gone blind, so busy sounding i'd stopped listening, so obsessed with making irises i'd lost my sense of smell, and so eager grabbing i'd forgot how to stroke, now i walked through a new garden in those others’ lives, and there is nothing we cannot share 18 July 1995 Tucson 19thorn dark know your more then dark reveals all you Will Inman could be if my hands could tura in you flesh writing my name's sweat fury in the waiting ilean in under the bay bush, under yaupon, of your not _ being here so fierce you're more i stare into fern brake into shade of grapeitie here than if my hands could hold i All bend into haw thicket i seratch my eyes this dark’s bleeding eyes with on thorns of dark i see rabbit poised to run thorns of your absent i see quail crouched in brown leaves isee bats _flesh i suck your whispered breath when i hanging on tree bark behind bushes i see you find you will your flesh be more than your limbs naked with waiting, open tomy blind these burning shadows staring, open to my hungry reach for you, how dark swells and shrinks, stretches and shimmers, i find you where i grope this steep unseeing, you - Ui oneleaffingee to touch mp face sab, > 2% May 1995 Tucson with the deep heady real of your being somewhere else i cannot know you more than i know you here down dark i cannotWhile You Were Out Stephen Sleboda While you were out Lcut the fingers off the children Honey. While you were out I switched heads on the dog and cat Darling. While you were out I tore out your sisters tongue Sweetheart, While you were out All the animals from the ark used our facilities Dear. “Oh dear” “Yes honey.” “[ don’t think I'll be going out tonight.” 21Perfect Pitch James Penha ‘The two horns played the party from memory, and were afraid to fill transposed, the silent seconds staring between blew cool for the crowd, the improv of a pickup band and listened for each other's eyes with small talk, sliding glances They kept time. for a beat and the lead. But when they had to hold each other ‘They had heard how harmony feels for the finale, in the skin, their fingers found all the forgotten places. 22Waiting for the Moon Liz Walsh-Boyd My family comes to Seattle for the wedding. Even my brother Kevin, who finds it difficult to leave the town where he was born except for maybe one day at a time. We have a picnic in the backyard Everyone sits in a circle and eats chicken as I hover over them with talk of more food. Later, I notice that Kevin has been missing for hours. My mother comments about darkness coming on. We move inside, form 23another circle, talk about the longness of daylight this time of year, and sit forward in our chairs squirming. At dusk, my fiance, calm, unlike the rest of us, lumbers his Volvo onto the street to have a look We stay seated at the window hoping the circle we have formed can surround this brother, this son, even in the absence he needs from a yard overflowing with family. In the shadows he is filtered back to us. Face pinched, whiter than usual, his eyes round and watery, the moon in rain, We sigh, pry ourselves from the chairs stand almost still say: “Chuck took the car, went to the store, will be back soon.” 24Grandma's Sunbonnet Quilt Sheryl L. Nelms Iva and Eva pieced it from flour sacks back in the winter of 183 their precise stitches marching in 3/4 inch time through three generations those threads have come to spread into my life they trimmed those hundreds of material slices then sewed them together in the kerosene halo through the blizzard blanketed Kansas nights to hold me together even nowSemaphore Sylvia Manning (for Barbara and Richard) You listened to the improbable problem: to find the house where she spent a month one summer, recuperating from death (or whatever she used toname it), her husband's Asa was his first name, Asa Eddy. You took me into backyard only miles from Manhattan (1 by land and 2 by sea?) that day I found you both in residence, by persistence, with some faith, and by taking the ferry, From the young tree planted when you moved to Staten Island we three shared four cherries, allit could give us. So now to tell you this: T found the house in Vermont where M.B. Eddy stayed that time when she'd nearly lost her nerve, It was not that difficult to do, though nothing points it out. In the yard there’s a cherry tree full of fruit, A robin deftly picks the sweetest red, then flies away. 7-25-95 Mission 26Kate King, 1863: Mistress Kit Knight I told momma I love William Clarke Quantrill so much I feel we have one skin wrapped around us. Momma smiled and said I was only being 16, I answered, “I love being 16.” William says he can’t marry me because he's going to die. Yankees are hunting the guerrilla chief 27who led 300 men into Kansas and torched most of Lawrence. He left at least 150 bodies behind. He ordered his bushwhackers to “kill every man big enough to carry a gun.” Most of Quantrill’s command spared boys. And all of them spared the women, Which is more than Yankee bastards can say. The dirty Yanks arrested more than 100 female relatives and sweethearts of the guerrillas, imprisoning them in a three story house that was deliberately weakened. The walls collapsed. Mothers, sisters, wives, daughters and aunts leaping from windows, dying in rotten wood. The Kansas raid was only as deadly as it was because Yankee bastards struck first. If William won't marry me--he doesn’t want to leave a widow-- Tl take his middle name and go down in history as Kate Clarke. 28= Advent H. Edgar Hix He picks up “God bless you, sir. halfa cigarette; God bless you. cold, he Have you,” stuffs it in his pocket. he digs in. I stuff a buck “Have you in his cup. got a light?” 29The Nature of the Dilemma Albert Huffstickler You don’t understand, I said, she didn’t reject me because we weren’t close. She rejected me because we were , because suddenly she was not. alone there in her skin and she couldn’t stand it. It’s fine to go through the motions of being close to someone, saying the words, especially, saying the words, preferably from adistance. But that’s not the same as waking one day to find someone else in your skin with you. That's when you start screaming and start using anything for a barrier. That’s when love and hate lie down side by side and you tell me which is which, from Poetic Space, Bugene OR, V5, No. 4, 1995 30Ordinary Woman Albert Huffstickler She was an ordinary woman, pleasant looking, not pretty but kind of sexy. I kept thinking there should be more to her, some spiritual dimension or something, but she was just an ordinary woman and we liked each other and I started thinking about going to bed with her and wondering if it was all right to go to bed 31with an ordinary woman that you liked but didn't Jove and with whom you had no spiritual connection, thinking all this to myself, of course, not sharing any of it with her, just walking along beside her, both of us enjoying it and thinking how later we'd go for a swim in the ocean nearby and that would leave us very close to naked and one thing would lead to another. We'd already decided to go to bed together, sometimes you can feel that and after a while our steps turned toward the ocean and then we were there and our clothes sort of came off and then we were in the water, very warm and kind of thick, and holding each other in the warm thick water with the sun on us, hot and crisp, and our bodies meeting under the water in a very, very ordinary way. from Red Owl Magazine, Portsmouth NH, No, 2, 1996 32