“After She Drowned”

for KMcE (1958-1983)

When she lay there on the table, it was she,

although she was so changed

that no one who’d not known her as a child

would know her now: the cold skin tight

as a refrigerated peach, the bruises

on her cheek, the long hands strapped 

against the upper thighs. 

A gray tide had seeped around her forehead

and the hair was matted soft, like moss

or weed. But still she was herself,

that almost smile, her high nose

wrinkled back in slight distaste. 

What happened, Kate? What happened? Who was there?

Perhaps she meant to answer, or perhaps

it didn’t matter any more. I’d ask around,

I’d find out this or that. Meanwhile, 

she lay like someone foundering in sleep,

her winter mouth half open, and the front tooth 

glinting like a tiny lamp.

She was nine years old in a fever, 

and her torso was bound shut, 

a wooden box, containing fragrances.

Her face was tilted to a different sky. 

Eyelashes frayed at the edges of her two calm eyes. 

“Aware” by Denise Levertov

When I found the door

I found the vine leaves

speaking among themselves in abundant

whispers.

My presence made them

hush their green breath,

embarrassed, the way

humans stand up, buttoning their jackets,

acting as if they were leaving anyway, as if

the conversation had ended

just before you arrived.

I liked

the glimpse I had, though,

of their obscure

gestures. I liked the sound

of such private voices. Next time

I'll move like cautious sunlight, open

the door by fractions, eavesdrop

peacefully.