Denise Dee

Salt

I lay in the tub
filled with water and with salt
my sweat comes out so heavy
like sap upon a tree
I read that sap was bleeding
when it happened in the spring
So I watched the sweat to see what it would bring

They used to salt babies
back in ancient times
to bless and make them holy
to give them lots of time
to blossom forth the thoughts
planted in their minds

Salt brings out flavors hidden within food
sweat can evaporate a very bitter mood
I lay in the water, pour in lots more salt
hear it meet the water, call my bitterness out

The water becomes so hot
I can't stand it much more
I sit and meet the coolness
coming under the door

I lay in the water
beads of sweat from on my forehead
some run into my eyes
blinding me with pain
others evaporate sucked into an invisible drain
being pulled in circles like the ones inside a tree
the furthest from the center
you become a leaf
things no longer needed
fall from the tree

 

Cold Rainy Night

Outside the place where I have been brought back to life
By transfusions of Irish poetry and prose
The place I left yesterday
Ecstatic, awake, in love with life and communicating
Made to see different by the simple fact
Of someone else telling what they have seen

There is a yellow tape
"Police line do not cross"
Two policement stand walkie-talkies, radios?
Held up near their mouths
Microphones for them on their stage, a world of secret language
One paces, one stands still
In the center an empty wheelchair

Poetry did not save his life, I think
But it could have
Call me naive, I say as I wonder who died in that chair,
Or fallen off of it
Tipped over dying on the cold cement
Alone or with others around?

This place one of the only left in town with benches long enough to lie on
Cold rainy night, night to drink on
Dennis O'Driscoll read a poem
"Someone is circling days on a calendar that will soon be irrelevant
Someone is shaving to be laid out"
And now someone is dead in front of the place
Where he read those words

I like to keep death in mind
I say to a friend
Why was I in the auditorium feasting on poetry
While he was outside starving on the streets?

Yellow tape- police line- do not cross
Poets cross the line between the living and the dead
and bring back images they hold up to us
Dare to cross that line- they cry- dare to cross that line
Draw a line down the center of your life
Dissect it, examine it
Some prefer to stand outside and watch, or look away
Wake up- death wakes you up- I say
I like to keep death in mind