Original Fire: Selected and New Poems

Here Is a Good Word for Step-and-a-Half Waleski

At first we all wondered what county or town

she had come from. Quite soon it was clear to us all

that was better unquestioned, and better unknown.

Who wanted to hear what had happened or failed

to occur. Why the dry wood had not taken fire.

Much less, why the dogs were unspeakably disturbed

when she ground the cold cinders that littered our walk

with her run-to-ground heels. That Waleski approached

with a swiftness uncommon for one of her age.

Even spiders spun clear of her lengthening shadow.

Her headlong occurrence unnerved even Otto

who wrapped up the pork rinds like they were glass trinkets

and saluted her passage with a good stiff drink.

But mine is a good word for Step-and-a-Half Waleski.

Scavenger, bone picker, lived off our alleys

when all we threw out were the deadliest scrapings

from licked-over pots. And even that hurt.

And for whatever one of us laughed in her face,

at least two prayed in secret, went home half afraid

of that mirror, what possible leavings they’d find there.

But mine is a good word, and even that hurts.

A rhyme-and-a-half for a woman of parts,

because someone must pare the fruit soft to the core

into slivers, must wrap the dead bones in her skirts

and lay these things out on her table, and fit

each oddment to each to resemble a life.