A Crescent Moon/Behind the Pines/
The Cry of a Loon/Where the River Winds/
The Blackened Trees/On the Long Gray Shire/
A Sob in the Breeze/That the Day is No More
I’m in conversation with Helen Dudley about “Reed-Song”
her poem published in Poetry, 1915. I wish you were alive!
There are no more crescent moons or light, pining poets.
I am coming to you, Helen. I pass twelve white pines
daily fantasizing about you, Helen, as the pines blacken
by a liquid-free river. It can’t wind. But those last pines,
those blackened trees, and the sob of that tragic loon?
You didn’t write: “the last loon/ will not shake feathers/
from the invasive reeds/ to sing again.” But my Helen,
the loon lapsed and “the day is no more” is totally true!
I am coming, Helen! I want to listen to your Reed-Song!
This morning the quizzical barista asked: “who is Elvis?”
Elvis is a sob in the breeze that Helen’s cry is no more
She Talks of Women in Refrigerators
as Lagoons of Pink Pig Shit Overflow
We motored over black corn stalks
and beakless chickens in a pontoon
boat in Duplin County. You know,
she said, the sexist movie trope—
the male hero finds his girlfriend
in the fridge? She got quiet. Cows
mooed on a porch. She said it is so
time to take the vote from all men.
She said lagoons of pig shit is sick
like stuffing a woman in the fridge.
Anaerobic bacteria turn the lagoons
like Pepto-Bismol. Did I too eat pig?
The mist is piss and aerosolized shit.
Nitrogen from the pig shit in the air
binds to hemoglobin and the blood
cells can’t carry oxygen. That’s why
the face of her baby looks all blue.
Ahab in a boat spears a pig carcass
in his flooded front yard and hooks
her by a hock and winches her aloft.
She is gassed with a decaying farrow,
and with a hot cracking piglets splash
like red stones. An elephantine snout
of humorous pink curiosity revolves.
You said: the moon is the moon
but I forget it’s hanging there,
as I forget the moon in me.
Sometimes I freeze on a blue
sky day, because a big rock
is hanging in the damn sky?
Do you remember the mobster
Cymon? He orbited to crescent
soul with a glance at Iphigenia.
Say the word moon with your
moon lips: now please god say
my name. How does a rock float?