Street Song

Mary Erulkar

Fortunate lady, with rings like stars
And a necklace of pacific pearl,
 Your child like a jewel
Is set in your silver arms,
And the breath of your love
Is a velvet box to keep her from harm.

In silks like the bird-embroidered air
And in the burnish of summer's brocades
 You clothe her, where she glows
Iridescent in the red flame of your gold
That shall warm her like a fire
When summer's sunflowers have gone down
 in the cold.

Could I but catch the humming bird
Or trap the dancing parakeet,
 Or weave a fishing net
For the cold coins of light that spin
In the running river: then like a new rose
Might she lie against my earthen skin.

But I have a son the colour of clay,
Brocaded bright with disease:
 He is my single ragged garment,
My hard and bitter loaf;
My faggot of sticks to sweep the streets,
And the magic livelihood of my love.