a woman with her knees wide,
her belly ripe and a storm in her face.
59Her sleeves are drenched,
she stretches out her hand
and I crouch before her.
60My arms tremble and my head
is heavy with her musk.
She clenches a fistful of my hair
and shrieks into my neck.
61With hot, stinging eyes,
my fingers hook gently
like talons
under two bloody shoulders,
62so little, was I? was I ever this . . .
soft and afraid, arms slippery
and long as eels, dearest eyes
sealed and messy mouth
blue as early morning
without breath.
63“Alas for me! I faint . . .”
the woman gasps, life dimming.
I wrap my arms around her and sob
terribly. 64With a dying hand she
urges my head toward her breast
and I suck at her sweet milk.
“Don’t let it spill, not one drop,”
she says, soft, 65my mother
is alive in my mind, in my mouth.
I weep and I drink forever, it seems.
It comes so slowly.
66The woman turns cold,
her faint smile and stiff
heavy fingers on the back of my neck.
My mouth is empty.
5
You roam the streets of this city
and I follow, close
enough for the fringe of your robe
to lap at my ankles, but far
enough for a herd of wild elephants to pass.
2Your eyes are searching for one
innocent memory,
when God was quiet,
nights were dreamless,
and men paid no mind.
3Your eyes are searching the city squares
while I am searching
your eyes.
4A branch switches at my legs
and I fall.
5My cheek is torn against the coarse sand
and a man’s foot is hard on the small of my back.
6He kicks me over and I scream out:
“Jeremiah!” but no voice escapes.
He has a face harder than rock.
7O prophet, you roam the squares
searching for integrity,
and all the while it is trailing behind you,
8here inside me is integrity and goodness,
wonder and love, yet you never turn back,
you never turn and see.
9Is my prophet foolish?
He hears the obvious blare of horns
but is deaf to my silent cry.
10Are you not a prophet?
Can you not hear my unspoken word?
“Jeremiah!
“Jeremiah!
“Jeremiah!”
11He takes me with bruising grip
to the ravaging tent,
beats me upon my already bleeding scalp.
12The branch comes down as a switch
and with each blow
I see a shock of white light.
13An anger wells up in my throat,
strangely, not toward him.
No, toward him I feel profound sorrow.
14I feel the need to explain
that he has made a mistake,
that I am everything good left in Fair Zion,
everything beautiful hidden underneath,
and he does not realize, 15he thinks
I am just another street rat,
he does not know that I am the keeper of a love,
a love of a prophet.
16This is a mistake.
I can forgive a mistake.
But you . . .
17Why should I forgive you?
You have forsaken me, Jeremiah.
18How is it that you listen to God
the Most Secret
and cannot intuit my longing?
19How is it that your eyes are filled
with the rot of this city,
and are blind to the blooming
in my heart?
20And how could
