Sun-Up and Other Poems | Page 4

SUN-UP
(Shadows over a cradle...
fire-light craning....
A hand
throws
something in the fire
and a smaller hand
runs into the flame and out
again,
singed and empty....
Shadows
settling over a cradle...
two
hands
and a fire.)
I
CELIA
Cherry, cherry,
glowing on the hearth,
bright red cherry....
When
you try to pick up cherry
Celia's shriek
sticks in you like a pin.
: :
When God throws hailstones
you cuddle in Celia's shawl
and press
your feet on her belly
high up like a stool.
When Celia makes
umbrella of her hand.
Rain falls through
big pink spokes of her
fingers.
When wind blows Celia's gown up off her legs
she runs
under pillars of the bank--
great round pillars of the bank
have on
white stockings too.
: :

Celia says my father
will bring me a golden bowl.
When I think of
my father
I cannot see him
for the big yellow bowl
like the moon
with two handles
he carries in front of him.
: :
Grandpa, grandpa...
(Light all about you...
ginger... pouring out of
green jars...)
You don't believe he has gone away and left his great
coat... so you pretend... you see his face up in the ceiling.
When you
clap your hands and cry, grandpa, grandpa, grandpa, Celia crosses
herself.
: :
It isn't a dream....
It comes again and again....
You hear ivy crying
on steeples
the flames haven't caught yet
and images screaming

when they see red light on the lilies
on the stained glass window of St.
Joseph.
The girl with the black eyes holds you tight,
and you run...
and run
past the wild, wild towers...
and trees in the gardens
tugging at their feet
and little frightened dolls
shut up in the shops

crying... and crying... because no one stops...
you spin like a penny
thrown out in the street.
Then the man clutches her by the hair....
He
always clutches her by the hair....
His eyes stick out like spears.

You see her pulled-back face
and her black, black eyes
lit up by the
glare....
Then everything goes out.
Please God, don't let me dream
any more
of the girl with the black, black eyes.
: :
Celia's shadow rocks and rocks...
and mama's eyes stare out of the
pillow
as though she had gone away
and the night had come in her
place
as it comes in empty rooms...
you can't bear it--

the night
threshing about
and lashing its tail on its sides
as bold as a wolf that
isn't afraid--
and you scream at her face, that is white as a stone on a
grave and pull it around to the light,
till the night draws backward...

the night that walks alone and goes away without end.
Mama says, I
am cold, Betty, and shivers.
Celia tucks the quilt about her feet,
but
I run for my little red cloak
because red is hot like fire.
: :
I wish Celia
could see the sea climb up on the sky
and slide off
again...
...Celia saying
I'd beg the world with you....
Celia...
holding on to the cab...
hands wrenched away...
wind in the masts...
like Celia crying....
Celia never minded if you slapped her
when the
comb made your hairs ache,
but though you rub your cheek against
mama's hand
she has not said darling since....
Now I will slap her
again....
I will bite her hand till it bleeds.
It is cool by the port hole.
The wet rags of the wind
flap in your
face.
II
THE ALLEY
Because you are four years old
the candle is all dressed up in a new
frill.
And stars nod to you through the hole in the curtain,
(except
the big stiff planets
too fat to move about much,)
and you curtsey
back to the stars
when no one is looking.
You feel sorry for the
poor wooden chair
that knows it isn't nice to sit on,
and no one is
sad but mama.
You don't like mama to be sad
when you are four
years old,
so you pretend
you like the bitter gold-pale tea--
you
pretend
if you don't drink it up pretty quick
a little gold-fish
will
think it is a pond
and come and get born in it.
: :
It's hot in our street

and the breeze is a dirty little broom
that
sweeps dust into our room
and bits of paper out of the alley.
You

are not let to play
with the children in the alley
But you must be
very polite--
so you pass them and say good day
and when they
fling banana skins
you fling them back again.
: :
There is no one to play with
and the flies on the window
buzz and
buzz...
...you can pull out their legs
and stick pins in their bodies

but still they buzz...
and mama says:
When Nero was a little boy

he caught flies on his mama's window
and pulled out their legs
and
stuck pins in their bodies
and nobody loved him.
Buzz, blue-bellied
flies--
buzz, nasty black wheel
of mama's machine--
you are the
biggest fly of all--
you have the loudest buzz.
I hear you at dawn
before the locusts.
But I like the picture of the Flood
and the little
babies getting drowned....
If I were there I would save them,
but as
I can't save them
I like to watch them
getting drowned.
: :
When mama buys of Ling Ho,
he smiles very wide
and picks her
the largest loquots.
The greens-man gave her a cabbage
and she
held it