Sun-Up and Other Poems | Page 5

biscuits?and black tea in a bottle.
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You feel very sad?when you climb on the fence?to watch mama out of sight.?The women in the alley?poke their heads out of doorways?and watch her too.?You know her?by the way she holds her shoulders?till she is only a speck?in a chain of specks--?till she is swallowed up.?But suppose?that day after day?you were to watch for her face?and it didn't come back??Suppose?it were to drop out of the string of white faces?like the pearl out of my chain?I never found again?
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Mabel minds you while mama is out,?she washes while she sings?Three blind mice!?they all run away from the farmer's wife?who cut off their tails?with a carving knife--?Wind blows out Mabel's sheets,?way you blow in a bag before you burst it.?Wind has a soapy smell.?It's heavier'n sun?that lies all over you without any weight?and makes you feel happy?and crinkly like bubbling water.?There's no sun on the empty house--?sly-looking house--?you can't see in its windows?that watch you out of their corners.?Perhaps there's a big spider there?spinning gray threads over the windows?till they look like dead people's faces....?Jimmie says:?Jimmie's hair is white as a white mouse.?His lashes are gold as mama's wedding ring?and his mouth feels cool and smooth?like a flower wet with rain.?You wouldn't believe Jimmie was different...
till he showed you....
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Blind wet sheets?flapping on the lines...?sun in your eyes,?dark gold sun?full of little black spots,?you have to blink and blink...?round eyes of Jimmie....?Jimmie's blue jumper...?blue shadow of wall...?all the world holding still?as when a clock stops...?streets still... people still...?no streets... no people...?only sky and wall...?sun glaring bright as God?down at you and Jimmie...?shadow like a purple cloth?trailing off the wall...
Wild wet sheets?flapping in the wind...?big slippered feet flapping too...?big-balloon-face?rushing up the alley...?houses closing up again...?windows looking round...?... Mabel pulls you in the gate and shakes you?and tells you not to tell your mama...?And you wonder?if God has spoiled Jimmie.
III
MAMA
Mama's face?is smooth and pale as tea-rose leaves.?That ivory oval of aunt Gem?you sucked the miniature off?had black black hair like mama.
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Pit-it-ty-pat,?Mama walks so fast,?street lamps jig?without bending a leg...?lights in the windows?play twinkling tunes?on crimson and blue?bottles like bubbles?big as balloons...?Faster and faster...?and pink light spurts?over cakes doing polkas?in little white shirts,?with cake-princesses?in flounced white skirts.
Pit-pat--?mama walks slower...?slower and... slower...?Eyes... lamps... stars...?acres and acres of stars...?bells... and sleepily?flapping feet....?You're glad mama walks slow.?It's nice to be carried along?up high near the stars?that look at you with a grave, great look.
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Every night?mama sings you to sleep.?When she sings, O for the light of thine eyes Dolores,?there's a castle on a cliff?and the sea roars like lions.?It leaps at the castle?and the cliff knocks it down?but always the sea?shakes its flattened head?and gets up again.?The castle has no roof?so the rain spins silvery webs in it,?and Dolores' face?floats dim and beautiful?the way flowers do when they are drowned.?Step by white step?she goes up the castle stairs,?but the stair goes up into the sky?and the sky keeps going up too,?and none of them ever get there.
When mama sings Ba ba black sheep,?the stars seem to shine through her voice?so everything has to be still,?and when she has finished singing?her song goes up off the earth,?higher and higher...?till it is only as big as a tiny silver bird?with nothing but moonlight around it.
IV
BETTY
You can see the sandhills from our new room.?Butterflies?live in the sandhills?and lizards?and centipedes.?If you keep very still?lizards will think you a stone?and run over your lap.?Butterflies' liveries?are scarlet and black.?They drive chariots in air.?People in the chariots?are pale as dew--?you can see right through them--?but the chariots?are made of gold of the sun.?They go up to heaven?and never catch fire.?There are green centipedes?and brown centipedes?and black centipedes,?because green and brown and black?are the colors in hell's flag.?Centipedes?have hundreds of feet?because it is so far from hell?to come up for air.?Centipedes?do not hurry.?They are waiting for the last day?when they will creep over the false prophets?who will have their hands tied.
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Night calls to the sandhills?and gathers them under her.?she pushes away cities?because their sharp lights?hurt her soft breast.?Even candles make a sore place?when they stick in the night.
There are things in the sandhills?that no one knows about...?they come out at dark when the young snakes play?and tell each other secrets?in the deaf logs.
Sometimes... before rain...?when the stars have gone inside...?the night comes close to your window?and sniffs at the light....?But you must not run away--?you must keep your face to the night?and walk backward.
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When it rains?and you are pulling off flies' legs...?mama lets you play houses?with Lizzie and Clara.?Because you are the Only One--?and because Only Ones have to live alone?while sisters stay together,?Lizzie and Clara?give you the dry house?and take the one with the leaking roof.
Rain like curly hairpins?blows on Lizzie and Clara's two heads?turned like one head--?two mouths?spread into one laugh.?Lizzie is