the LAST War- Of MYSELF, finally
before even the pretty needlessness came about-
and I was afraid, and small, lying in my father's house,
watching the sky-
it was large then. we lived in a forest. I was afraid of the
deer, they were always about the garden, and one time, during
the height of tension, when my father was drunk and alone I was
lying outside, and I could not speak. I stared helplessly at the flowers. I could
not speak, and I had every idea that some great flood was approaching, and I
wanted my father to come, he was drunk and alone
and I could not speak.
I am still frightened of jackals and speechlessness.
the jackals most of all, here in a smaller house,
with only one large tree in the yard,
a large tree like lightning veins, overtop my
roof. there are nights when I am so filled with –before-
that I cannot speak, and I think of the awful
deer in my garden, with their quick terrible eyes-
I think of our violet flowers, that came away with
the sandy wind of the jets, laughing and laughing-
now it is different-
because I am in loved-
and we are removed from
the landing strip, which came
right over our old large house,
in the middle of the woods.
can you hear me speak?
when I was young you
cursed the television, which
rallied and shook,
which spoke about the deserts you had seen-
are you in Arabia now?
among the consecrated brown trees?
I cannot tell
I cannot say.