8 To Vl. 1 Plants do not grow towards the dark -- away from light. Birds Do not tear their flesh with their beaks. And dog would not rejoice At the sores of its mate. You taught me otherwise. In your garden, plants were growing away from light -- Towards the dark. By your window, birds were tearing their flesh With their beaks. By your bed, your dog rejoiced at my sores, And yours. You taught me to do the same -- Scratch my skin with nails To plant the sores. Pull a skirt over my head To hide in the dark. Why didn't I learn to delight in your sores, and mine? Why didn't I learn to gloat? 2 Unrequited laughter is your form of sadism. You quit The heroic when you were born premature into The grotesque -- The sneer of tumult, tacitly turning out the stupor, The tumor of multi-flat anonymous tumulus -- Born to your father Who was ever drunk on the fume, droning with fury, Till drowned-stifled-extinguished In spit-slush-faeces-snivel-vomit-urine; Squeezed- Rolled-dragged-drugged-dropped-dripping; Smashed-mashed-ruined; Crawling on his fours into his 3-foot crack, and puking Over the threshold Into your cradle. Unrequited laughter is the best of sadism -- a zipped Hatred beyond anger. You took after your ever sober mother -- Prim-prompt; hiding in her 2-room-size D angst; prying Into key holes of her eyes, but hoping she was not a weasel, But a witch -- Dragging-drugging-rolling- -squeezing- smashing-mashing-stifling- -scrambling-roasting-broiling-boiling-frying her foes In her cast-down-cast-iron eyes. Too bad, she could not laugh.







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IRENE CĂSAR
Returned Mail
Collected Poems

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