8 To Vl.
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?
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,
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 --
-scrambling-roasting-broiling-boiling-frying her foes
In her cast-down-cast-iron eyes.
Too bad, she could not laugh.