Sun-Up and Other Poems | Page 6

saying:?why don't you want to play--?when you feel you'd like to braid?the crinkled-silver rain?into a shining rope?to climb up... and up... and up... into the wet sky?and never see any one again.
Our gate doesn't hang right.?It must have pawed at the wind?and gotten a kick?as the wind passed over.?The sitting sky?puffs out a gray smoke?and the wind makes a red-striped sound?blowing out straight,?but our gate drags its foot?and whines to itself on one hinge.
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What do you think I've found--?two wee knickers of fairy brass,?or two gold sovereigns folded up?in a bit of green silk,?or two gold bugs?in little green shirts??If you want to know,?you must walk tip-toe?so your feet just whisper in the grass--?you must carry them careful?and very proud,?for their stems bleed drops of milk--?but Lizzie and Clara shout in glee:?Pee-a-bed, pee-a-bed--?dandelions!?You look in the eyes of grown-up people?to see if they feel?the way you feel...?but they hide inside of themselves,?and so you do not find out.?Grown-up people say:?The stars are bright to-night,?but they do not say?what you are thinking about stars--?not even mama says what you are thinking about stars.?This makes you feel very lonely.
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It's strange about stars....?You have to be still when they look at you.?They push your song inside of you with their song.?Their long silvery rays?sink into you and do not hurt.?It is good to feel them resting on you?like great white birds...?and their shining whiteness?doesn't burn like the sun--?it washes all over you?and makes you feel cleaner'n water.
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My doll Janie has no waist?and her body is like a tub with feet on it.?Sometimes I beat her?but I always kiss her afterwards.?When I have kissed all the paint off her body?I shall tie a ribbon about it?so she shan't look shabby.?But it must be blue--?it mustn't be pink--?pink shows the dirt on her face?that won't wash off.
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I beat Janie?and beat her...?but still she smiled...?so I scratched her between the eyes with a pin.?Now she doesn't love me anymore...?she scowls... and scowls...?though I've begged her to forgive me?and poured sugar in the hole at the back of her head.
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Mama says Janie is a fairy doll?and she has forgiven me--?that she's gone to the market?to buy me some sweets.?--Now she's at the door?and a little bag tied to her neck--?I run to Janie?and kiss her all over....?Ah... she is still frowning.?I let the sweets drop on the floor--?mama?has told you a lie.
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Chinaman?singing in street:?gleen ledd-ish-es, gleen ledd-ish-es--?hot sun?shining on your face--?it must be a new day.?But why aren't you happy?if it's a new day??Because something has happened...?something sad and terrible....?Now I remember... it's Janie.?Yesterday?I took Janie out?and tied my handkerchief over her face?and put sand in it?and threw her into the ditch?down in the black water?under the dock leaves...?and when mama asked me where Janie was?I said I had lost her.
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I'm glad it is night-time?so I'll be able to go to sleep?and forget all about it....?But mama looks at my tongue?and says she will give me senna tea.?When you smell the tea?you shut your eyes tight?and pretend not to hear?the soft, cool voice of mama?that goes over your forehead?like a little wind.?And then you lie in the dark?and stare... and stare...?till the faces come...?yellow faces with leering eyes?drifting in a greeny mist....?I wonder?if Janie sees faces?out there... alone in the dark....?I wonder?if she has got the handkerchief off?or if the water has gone in the hole?where the whistle was?at the back of her head?and drowned her...?or if the stars?can see her under the dock leaves?
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It's smoky-blue and still?over the red road.?Wind must be lying down with its tail under it--?doesn't even flick off the flies.?And you can hear the silence?buzzing in the gum trees,?the way the angels buzzed?when they flew through the cedars of Lebanon?with thin gauze wings?you could see through.?Nice to hear the silence buzzing--?till it comes too close?and booms in your ears?and presses all over you?till you scream....?When you scream at the silence?it goes to jingling pieces?like a silver mirror?broken into tiny bits.?Perhaps its wings are made of glass--?perhaps it lives down in a dark, dark cave?and only comes up?to warm its wings in the sun....?It's cold in the cave--?no matter how you cover yourself up.?Little girls sit there?dressed in white?and the dolls in their arms?all have white handkerchiefs?over their faces.?Their shadows cannot play with them...?their shadows lie down at their feet...?for the little girls sit stiff as stones?with their backs to the mouth of the cave?where a little light falls off?the wings of the silence?when it comes down out of the sun.
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Moon catches the flying fish?as they dive in the bay.?Flying fish?spin over and over?slippity-silver?into the water.?Mom bends over jungles?and touches the foreheads of tigers?as they pass under openings made by dropped leaves.?Tigers stop on the trail of the deer?while the moon is on their