Cortege

I

Cold, cold, cold

was the merciless blood of your father.

By the halo of his breath

your mother knew him;

by January she knew him,

and dreaded the knowledge.

His winter breath

made tears impossible for her.

glazed the air in the kitchen,

dulled the knife,

crusted with ice the milk jug,

soured the butter,

gave fever to all iron objects

and clenched at her throat,

making speech impossible for her.

She passed him and crept sidewise

down the stairs,

loathing the touch

of the doorknob he had clasped,

hating the napkin

he had used at the table.

The children bolted their food

and played outdoors in winter.

Hopscotch took them

blocks away from their father.

Nowhere was ease

but watchfulness in all corners.

The parlor was uncomfortable as the cellar,

the attic was filled with rafts of legal papers,

testimony at lawsuits

stuffed the pillows,

dawn was judicial

and noon made confiscations.

Evening hunched

and hawked on the roof like a jury.

II

The lawyer’s house

was always in death’s country.

A death was coming.

The minister knew it was coming.

The shroud was cut

before the doctor was summoned.

Winter ached

in the sewing-women’s knuckles.

Your mother knew it.

Familiar and loveless knowledge

withered her running heart

and gave it fever.

Arthritis twisted her.

Vivid roses

her blanched face wore in death,

the borrowed plumage of a wealthy cousin . . .

◆     ◆     ◆

The funeral cortege,

through the financial district,

among the childlike

images of the park

and into the banker’s

and brewer’s dream of the suburbs

bore with pomp

a woman dead on Monday.

The rumps and nostrils

of horses steamed and frosted.

A mist hung on

the propriety of mourners,

but whisky would hearten

the sentiments felt incumbent

and give unto death

the homage of business partners.

Your father’s breath

made tears impossible for you.

It clenched at your throat,

it froze upon your eyelids.

And on that morning —

precociously — for always —

you lost belief

in everything but loss,

gave credence only to doubt,

and began even then,

as though it were always intended,

to form in your heart

the cortege of future betrayals —

the loveless acts

of crude and familiar knowledge.