Polly's Poem

03/05/93

I had a question 
turned to glance at you 
looking for your answers 
but a catch in my throat 
strangled me with memory 
and swallowed my unfilled words. 
Polly, that swallow caught in my throat 
is crumpling my voice 
with its dry dead rattle 
of hollow bones and broken flight 
until even breathing causes a bronchitic tearing, 
that muscle-tensed sound 
before crying can be heard. 
a shower of tears 
instead of a flood of words 
too often threatened womanly theatrics 
and its taken me months to compose 
myself and this poem 
upon your parting. 
my elfin friend you flew too quickly 
through the few years we befriended 
your bawdy attitude striding 
across preconceived notions 
people you met were handicapped with. 
I'm glad that this is a written note 
for even through eyes 
blinded by our human burden 
it can still be jotted down 
whereas the swallow 
has nestled her head and beak 
into my adam's apple 
and I would not be able 
to sing the funeral dirge 
you deserved 
even had I sacrificed 
a living poem on the barge 
I would burn if I could 
before Charon could greet you 
on the wrong side of the river than I. 
there were so many faces you flew by me 
you, with your black lace underwear 
worn halloween style 
beneath the guilty glitter 
you dusted people with, 
just as any decent fairy would 
so their jealous girlfriends 
could have eyes as prettily green 
as the wood that birthed you, 
but as smooth as you could strongarm 
your sweet-talking way 
through the school system, surgery and social 
services to get back to important matters 
-like that damn block grant 
you connived, corrected and cooked to perfection 
though none of the pregnant poor would know your aid 
helped keep AIDS at bay 
-like that damn Andy 
still trying to sugar his words 
and Vampire Mike shadowing his cynical heart he long 
ago gave to you 
at every party 
they beat Berkeley's burned-out heart to 
-like the friends who found 
a letter sweetened with hard currency 
to help glue the bottom back on their world, yet it 
was sweetness your body 
couldn't handle 
before the handle turned over 
and some overdone, damned organ 
in that sweet young body of yours 
blew you out one night 
like a candle you could barely see with 
though you lit the right paths 
for the hords of people 
who needed to be touched only once by you 
to shine brighter. 
Polly, you bitch, how dare you die on me 
and don't you laugh and look shocked 
I know you 
I just didn't know you long enough 
and you didn't see me weeping last August 
as I drove by all the places that meant you 
and it took just one glance at last year's calendar 
as I searched for clues 
to my toddling son's fearsome chronic pain
to send me off weeping again 
with only the solace of a pen 
to console the unanswered questions 
I know you could have helped me with. 
I still haven't learned enough 
about the art of hugging 
that you knew and operated your secret circle with 
but I'll have to try to give Ken 
the long sighing holds you once helped him with 
and teach little Jeremy 
all the years he would have learned better from you, 
you see, I'll never grow into the shoes you left me. 
god I miss you 
you little blond fairy witch