Sun-Up and Other Poems | Page 6

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.
: :
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
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.
: :
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.
: :
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.
: :
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.
: :
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.

: :
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.
: :
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.
: :
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?
: :

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