Anti-Cycle for the New Year
(i)
Dark days,
thin snow on the roofs
graying, he described me
too long a mother:
no cycle
of return to
before that
(ii)
Light snow on the airfield
—take it lightly
the great engines grind
lift my sons off
our common ground
in a long curve
opening
(iii)
Poets praise motherhood
especially
if they are fathers
and move on to
less burdened women
no new start for me;
only the old
effort to juggle loss
against
the continual gift
wrapped in tissue
that gets thrown away
(iv)
I strip the tree whose little lights
the shivering tinsel multiplied—
hopes, joys
When I was a child I thought I’d die
after Christmas. I thought rightly:
nothing ahead but comedown
I lit a tree for my sons, who fly
east, who will wing back my way,
but it’s not my symbol
this cut convention drying in a corner,
seduction clung to—
now I lean
towards plain day. I stand
at its uncurtained window
(v)
Pity these cycles
beginning again:
the woman betrayed by lovers
will once more encounter brutes;
connoisseurs who find little to suit
their tastes will find less;
the writer of radical protest
will find the middle class more obtuse;
the taciturn poet at parties
will find the girls mute—
all will come beg me to tell them
they’re right because they are wronged
and my cycle starts. I’ll be drawn
into murmuring sympathy—yes,
I support your plausible lie:
external forces exist
and are vicious—
again I’ll be drawn
into failing to say what I know
what I constantly say to myself
as a charm against panic
the world’s selfmade
observe! observe!
(vi)
The long curve of the year
empties
We’re out of bread:
must get more
at the I.G.A.
—they’re out of our brand
and the price is higher
Supplies come through
on odd timetables
We rotate on a bent
axle-tree
—thus the Sahara
once a polar icecap
you can see the bend itself
on the non-stop jet
to California
the mind in its long passage
over the winter Rockies
its momentary lights
a pattern
on the night airfield:
gray snow
going back to water