CRAZY ARMS: EARLENE REMEMBERS

Laura's wringing mermaid gown, the pink fish

of her breast. It stumbled toward us arms out

and became suddenly

the old bag reeking of grappa.

Oh, Laura seized my hand and cried out.

The old woman fell back, mashed her paw to her mouth,

and sped away on molting mules.

CRAZY ARMS: EARLENE REMEMBERS

Though I grew up to marry a snowman,

though I look like a glass of milk,

once I was the queen of consuming passions:

and in my mind distant hotbeds

buck and bloom with brown-bear hugs, pink

tulip skin, and the edible wild plants

of lips and ears. Oh, Dave may have been

just a big Vice Lord on the streets,

but he was Baby Child to me.

He would rub his harsh curls

against my neck, and tug with excellent teeth

at the peach chemise made for big tomatoes.

I breathed beastly suggestions

in his marvelously ready ear. . .

How happy I was, in his clutches!

Words failed us, we fell into broken English

and then to the searing nubs of vowels,

Ahh, ee, I, ohh, you.

A night lush with stars.

"Look at me, baby."

I kissed him so hard my nose bled,

and he said: "Welcome to rock and roll."