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CHAIN

News item: Two girls, fifteen and sixteen, were sent to foster homes,
because they had borne children by their natural father. Later,
they petitioned the New York courts to be returned to their
parents, who, the girls said, loved them. And the courts did so.

Faces surround me that have no smell or color no time

only strange laughing testaments

vomiting promise like love

but look at the skeleton children

advancing against us

beneath their faces there is no sunlight

no darkness

no heart remains

no legends

to bring them back as women

into their bodies at dawn.

Look at the skeleton children

advancing against us

we will find womanhood

in their eyes

as they cry

which of you bore me

will love me

will claim my blindness as yours

and which of you marches to battle

from between my legs?

II

On the porch outside my door

girls are lying

like felled maples in the path of my feet

I cannot step past them nor over them

their slim bodies roll like smooth tree trunks

repeating themselves over and over

until my porch is covered with the bodies

of young girls.

Some have a child in their arms.

To what death shall I look for comfort?

Which mirror to break or mourn?

Two girls repeat themselves in my doorway

their eyes are not stone.

Their flesh is not wood nor steel

but I can not touch them.

Shall I warn them of night

or offer them bread

or a song?

They are sisters. Their father has known

them over and over. The twins they carry

are his. Whose death shall we mourn

in the forest

unburied?

Winter has come and the children are dying.

One begs me to hold her between my breasts

Oh write me a poem mother

here, over my flesh

get your words upon me

as he got this child upon me

our father lover

thief in the night

do not be so angry with us. We told him

your bed was wider

but he said if we did it then

we would be his

good children if we did it

then he would love us

oh make us a poem mother

that will tell us his name

in your language

is he father or lover

we will leave your word

for our children

engraved on a whip or a golden scissors

to tell them the lies

of their birth.

Another says mother

I am holding your place.

Do you know me better than I knew him

or myself?

Am I his daughter or girlfriend

am I your child or your rival

you wish to be gone from his bed?

Here is your granddaughter mother

give us your blessing before I sleep

what other secrets

do you have to tell me

how do I learn to love her

as you have loved me?