wrapped stoats
(for sam hunt)
a letter and a book of poems came from you
as i sat writing
naked in the winter sun
you said you would come over the water
to the sounds
ride through the early morning to see me
i thought of the old woman with the one eyed house
in a garden of cabbages
she dreamed you were riding on a rainbow
i read a poem you wrote my sister
i remembered when i came with my firstborn
to that little red house
by a bridge
where a thin creek ran
where the sea ran into it
it had two long rooms
the floor was concrete
it was here i met you
your eyes long
your feet wrapped stoats
i was dark full of doom
i would sweep the house
polish the desk with it toffee legs
water the floor so the dust would not rise
do the washing in the old cracked sink
where the water ran out into the yard
and made a moat
when the sheets got dirty i threw them away
my hands were cracked
my fingernails turned black
i fed the gulls with my child
she chased them into the water and ate their bread
we made fires together
i read you my writing that the silverfish ate
you did not wish for a married woman
you liked a young virgin
i wanted my mother
i did not want a child or husband
i wished for death
i watched the jagged rocks
where a black shag sat
we would go drinking at a pub
i would drink til i knew no more
i am collecting wood for the fire
its cold by the woodshed
the hills are dark