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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=535699" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Three For Cemetery Statues By The Atlantic, Falmouth, Massachusetts 1977</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">These three<br>being of stone<br>or steel...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Figure 1</div><div style="margin:10px 0">An old woman, never married, <br>speaks among the dunes: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I am the older sister, and ugly.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I watch the sea by the wall, <br>yearn for each tide's return.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I walk the surf in all weather<br>and spend myself amidst</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the sea wrack screaming<br>with the tern and the dove.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I count my white hairs by the <br>sea weighing each for love.<br> <br>...wear your love, my sister.<br>Carry your breasts white and full <br>to his hands, the mouth of the sea.<br>Breathe deeply the salt sea air, <br>fill them each for his warm mouth to take...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I will taste brine<br>and fill each old breast<br>with sand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I will taste brine<br>and fill them each, <br>each, with sand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They fall deeply<br>into my ribs in<br>the windy dunes<br>soon, soon to be<br>swallowed by<br>the fish and the crab.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Figure 2</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Looming over a family plot, <br>A figure of Biblical Cain: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ground my face in the world's crotch<br>I'll never do though I wish it.<br>Closest I'll ever come be the day<br>I lay my thumbs beneath the dirt<br>and fish for an earthworm's eye.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Soft skin I'll never touch<br>'cept mine own hard flesh<br>with thumb-less caress.<br>What thigh shall ever be mine? <br>And no man lip touch, ever, <br>him I've slain, <br>nor womankind want, <br>I hate my mother's name.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To fold the soil or sever<br>muscle with the teeth, spit <br>seed to the wind or dribble <br>praises manfully down the cheek, <br>ah, heady sin! Tears! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The silt of September's enough! <br>Hard clay of October be bust! <br>A fist to the day's end, <br>black blade pierce the heart<br>if I cannot kiss you, oh Mud, <br>cannot push my face into<br>your belly moaning thick-<br>love of the world, <br>eating fossil and coal, <br>drinking ancient tar<br>and artesian melt-<br>if I cannot have it then<br>I have not known the Jehovah Man.<br>I have breathed salt for nothing, <br>taken all words for fool's<br>bedding, crushed them<br>like my brother, flung them<br>over fences, slain them<br>all to the last letter, <br>each a shattered stilt.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Even upon the word of my name<br>I bring down the stone.<br>But in vain. Each blow<br>cannot crush it. No end.<br>No prayer.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Black night descends.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The dark well screams</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Figure 3</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A scholar with a book sits <br>just within the cemetery gate: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And so, green statue with<br>your large hand on your book, <br>don't look so foolish<br>with snow on your head.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When did you last come<br>to sit beside the dogwood<br>growing a shadow over the dead? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Death is a deed.<br>Death is a clean sorrow.<br>It is natural to weep -</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Even a waste basket in a cemetery.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Warren+Falcon">Warren Falcon</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=535699" data-title="Three For Cemetery Statues By The Atlantic, Falmouth, Massachusetts 1977 de Warren Falcon" data-description="These three
being of stone
or steel...

Figure 1

An old woman, never married, 
speaks among the dunes: 

I am the older sister, and ugly.

I watch the sea by the wall, 
yearn for each tide's return.

I walk the surf in all weather
and spend mysel..."></div>
</div>
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