A Poem For Bernadette =COPYRIGHT © CARMEN

A Poem For Bernadette

It's a memory, so you can change it
prolong the moment before rain,
turn down the thunder,
black out the lightning,
change the emphasis, rearrange.

It's a memory, Bernadette,
so you can perfect the scene,
straighten the crooked man,
and the little girl--her splayed walk home.

It's a memory so you could allow it to collapse,
implode, or you could close down altogether.
Crush the hero seed in your palms.

You could count, Bernadette...
Count every vein in every leaf,
count every leaf on every tree.
Out the window of the tree house now--
......Is that thunder?
You might divide the vast night into quadrants.
Or paint the world by numbers.
All the threes will be indigo blue
--and the twos that sort of of blowsy-green of summer
....Is that lightning?
Paint it white, fluorescent white.
Not to forget purple-tinged-with-rust,
in the bruised morning Pink.

Look to the sky,
Straighten-- no matter how painful--
the bow-legged Casseiopia --in the star-filled night.
It's gorgeous up there, you've got to admit.

Objectify your fear.
Put all that longing and sadness and trust
into an oblong box
--no wait, that's not a box--that's a tree house!
And they are just about to climb into it again.
There. ...... There now.
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