All The Dead Dears
Rigged
poker
-stiff
on
her
back
With
a
granite
grin
This
antique
museum-cased
lady
Lies,
companioned
by
the
gimcrack
Relics
of
a
mouse
and
a
shrew
That
battened
for
a
day
on
her
ankle-bone.
These
three,
unmasked
now,
bear
Dry
witness
To
the
gross
eating
game
We'd
wink
at
if
we
didn't
hear
Stars
grinding,
crumb
by
crumb,
Our
own
grist
down
to
its
bony
face.
How
they
grip
us
through
think
and
thick,
These
barnacle
dead!
This
lady
here's
no
kin
Of
mine,
yet
kin
she
is:
she'll
suck
Blood
and
whistle
my
narrow
clean
To
prove
it.
As
I
think
now
of
her
hand,
From
the
mercury-backed
glass
Mother,
grandmother,
greatgrandmother
Reach
hag
hands
to
haul
me
in,
And
an
image
looms
under
the
fishpond
surface
Where
the
daft
father
went
down
With
orange
duck-feet
winnowing
this
hair
—-
All
the
long
gone
darlings:
They
Get
back,
though,
soon,
Soon:
be
it
by
wakes,
weddings,
Childbirths
or
a
family
barbecue:
Any
touch,
taste,
tang's
Fit
for
those
outlaws
to
ride
home
on,
And
to
sanctuary:
usurping
the
armchair
Between
tick
And
tack
of
the
clock,
until
we
go,
Each
skulled-and-crossboned
Gulliver
Riddled
with
ghosts,
to
lie
Deadlocked
with
them,
taking
roots
as
cradles
rock.
