DORA MALECH
And Made of It
East, enter potter under
whose hands the world
turns clockwise.
whose hands the world
turns clockwise.
West, counterclockwise,
say tradition meaning
means nothing,
say tradition meaning
means nothing,
no blown breath nor big pull.
In the name of is what it is,
sun casts the shadows
In the name of is what it is,
sun casts the shadows
as themselves for a change.
To speak to into or to
through this needs more
To speak to into or to
through this needs more
than my little muscles.
Perhaps a handle.
An as if turned to music,
Perhaps a handle.
An as if turned to music,
slurry sieved to slip.
Here are my hands
for pulling the walls up.
Here are my hands
for pulling the walls up.
Here is the air
will cause a wobble.
Rib to tip in the direction
will cause a wobble.
Rib to tip in the direction
of rotation, murmur,
momentum, tell you
What. I tell you What.
momentum, tell you
What. I tell you What.
Centred, I am ready
for an opening.
But for a throw of,
for an opening.
But for a throw of,
or thrown off, or
to or for or from.
Kick throw repeat
to or for or from.
Kick throw repeat
is my prayer
for a pliable vessel.
I have never seen
for a pliable vessel.
I have never seen
a child unquiet
while watching
the wheel.
while watching
the wheel.
Missive
My everything I say but don’t be silly.
How could everything possibly be mine?
How could everything possibly be mine?
The future’s on her belly in the dust
Laying for the stagecoach sweet-talking the scope.
Laying for the stagecoach sweet-talking the scope.
The past? Don’t let me catch that sniveling
Misnomer here. From now on I’m calling her
Misnomer here. From now on I’m calling her
The gone as in in the gone I could not know
To hold you. If you were my and I your charge
To hold you. If you were my and I your charge
A life before as well I hope at least
I had a fabulous hat and a language
I had a fabulous hat and a language
With which to say believe me. Maybe no stranger
Than stepping from one room into another.
Than stepping from one room into another.
Maybe I thirst. I’ll drink to in and out
Of breath to excess to your last ash.
Of breath to excess to your last ash.
Tale too tall for me to tiptoe reach
The top shelf bottle there with our name on it.
The top shelf bottle there with our name on it.
I don’t need to spill it spell it out.
You know our name by now don’t you? My love
You know our name by now don’t you? My love
As a prescribed burn a this hurts me more than
A cause the cone to open. Welter swelter
A cause the cone to open. Welter swelter
Split the deck of cards. Can’t predict king
Or jack but that you’ll pull the black and I
Or jack but that you’ll pull the black and I
The redder riddles. If you are reading this
You can’t be nearly close enough to me.
You can’t be nearly close enough to me.
You Are Here
Body’s gallon and a half of blood – he knew
but hadn’t told me yet. Hung right, lurched
over tracks. Said he loved Bartholomew –
flipped, flayed, lugging his skin. The birches
played yes-men, nodded off. Beyond the trees,
a woman tried to teach her dog to sic.
The sound of the jerked choke chain carried
rattle of metal links. Claim dark led our lips
to an undisclosed location. Branches heavy,
fallen on a wire. Some train had an answer
to define absolve, but too far off. See,
we didn’t see the gun-shy stars until much later.
Three gallons, good moon. Good dog, now sit.
He touched his tongue to where my lip was split.
but hadn’t told me yet. Hung right, lurched
over tracks. Said he loved Bartholomew –
flipped, flayed, lugging his skin. The birches
played yes-men, nodded off. Beyond the trees,
a woman tried to teach her dog to sic.
The sound of the jerked choke chain carried
rattle of metal links. Claim dark led our lips
to an undisclosed location. Branches heavy,
fallen on a wire. Some train had an answer
to define absolve, but too far off. See,
we didn’t see the gun-shy stars until much later.
Three gallons, good moon. Good dog, now sit.
He touched his tongue to where my lip was split.
Safe Passage
Here is the cat. Here is the cradle.
Here is the bird that cries to-do
and where your daughter
passed through the frozen season,
the empty house. I love you
in the film that collects on the table,
on the windowpanes. Where she ran
her fingers through your dust and frost.
Here is the bird that cries to-do
and where your daughter
passed through the frozen season,
the empty house. I love you
in the film that collects on the table,
on the windowpanes. Where she ran
her fingers through your dust and frost.
Here, the man with his goose and his fox
reduced to a smudge with a speck and a dot,
having safely crossed the river.
In the fallen city, the surprise was
what was not found, which was
virtually anything. Porch guarded
by a gun called Kindness. Small dogs
at the screen doors, big dogs at the gates.
reduced to a smudge with a speck and a dot,
having safely crossed the river.
In the fallen city, the surprise was
what was not found, which was
virtually anything. Porch guarded
by a gun called Kindness. Small dogs
at the screen doors, big dogs at the gates.
We’ll hear what’s coming if it’s coming.
Not alone, see, rather, beside myself,
when all of my lines are lines of defence.
When all of our best suits outfit the dead,
same scale of one to stricken. The clauses
include: stop-gap, sunset. Here, my straight
face claiming victory, trimming the wicks
to praise what is ours to re-ravel.
Not alone, see, rather, beside myself,
when all of my lines are lines of defence.
When all of our best suits outfit the dead,
same scale of one to stricken. The clauses
include: stop-gap, sunset. Here, my straight
face claiming victory, trimming the wicks
to praise what is ours to re-ravel.
Not felled city. Fallen. Where men
no older than yourself stood in the sun,
but trembling. We used to say my people,
knew which wind would carry us away
and which would take us home again.
I am speaking for myself. Don’t waste
your breath. The dogs aren’t deaf,
they’re trying to forget their names.
no older than yourself stood in the sun,
but trembling. We used to say my people,
knew which wind would carry us away
and which would take us home again.
I am speaking for myself. Don’t waste
your breath. The dogs aren’t deaf,
they’re trying to forget their names.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dora Malech received her B.A. degree from Yale University and her M.F.A. in Poetry from the University of Iowa Writers’ Workshop. She has been the recipient of numerous honours, including a Clapp Fellowship from Yale, a Capote Fellowship and a Teaching-Writing Fellowship from the Writers’ Workshop, and a Glenn Schaeffer Award. She led the Iowa Workshop at the IIML last summer, and will join the IIML as a primary MA co-ordinator in 2007.