Prose story written when I was 19

1. The Bitter Herb
… Migdal Eden

2. The Bitter Herb
Dedicated to George Dennison (Jamie)
And to Mabel Dennison

3. 1
…..There are two clocks ticking in the room.
One tick is too loud.
One is too fast.
I am sitting
writing you a letter.
It is late…
The letter…
Dear Jamie,
Today you’re 49,
birthday on the same day as mine.
In a tired voice full of candles and red wine
you count over your loves gone by,
and the things that you tried,
that didn’t work.
And it’s made you a very gentle man
or at least a very patient man-and also quite sad-
to think of life going on that way.
And you ask yourself now? freely admitting this-
hoping that I’m not old enough even now to understand.

4. 2
Love. She came so late
and looked so young wearing autumn leaves
when you wanted to be warm, and get enough.
You wanted my face like an angels a little longer.
Liking me, you said
you couldn’t stand me
waiting to argue where it counted-
when you wanted to.
I blush because
I loved you all the same.
So you loved me against you will.
But you loved me deeply
(then)
What happened to us?
Explanations rise,
like a blank page to be written on.
Jamie, my body is the earth.
Jamie, my body is a fast flowing river.
Jamie, my body is a strong tree,
roots spread open by your hands.

5. 3
You say that I talk too plain now.
I guess so.
You say,
Where’s my poetry?
But if you say once more
‘‘When are you going to grow up? Please let me
in‛
I’ll weep poetry.
Love.
A feast.
A feast of the un-pursued-
cannot be caught
cannot be hanged.
Love is a rehearsal-
for the resurrection circus.
What is?
Once upon-
Once upon-a girl
I danced.

6. 4
Once upon I was standing in a forest stream.
Looking down through the water,
I saw the bottom clearly.
And then I saw-
Myself.
I saw an indifferent Joy.
Reflected-
Between bare feet and dark strands of hair-
floating all around my shoulders, Down in the water,
two breasts were dancing-Woman dancing,
dancing the dance of the milkweed’s coming.
And I am a daughter of the dance.
And Jamie-
You had a vision,
standing by the lake,
the railroad tracks and the rising moon:
looking after the train as I left you,
remembering the first time
that I felt a woman with you-
a man so much older and wiser?

7. 5
Full with new inclinations to wine and smoke.
There was fire and comfort in the holding still
And teetering between deepness and darkness-
A baby in the womb.
And now?
My eyes full of yes are watering,
my mouth is saying no.
Jamie, Jamie
tired of iron bars
Can you make love to a woman with any joy
now?
The blood pounds through my head.
I remember falling asleep in your arms,
Completely conscious of roses.
Near the end of our living together,
I never dreamed about you.
But I dreamed about you turning into other
people,
people that I‘d never met,
but that I wanted to make love to. A man, a woman…

8. 6
I myself changed into a boy,
living in a stone castle.
I dreamed of baby’s faces looking in at me,
though cold winter windows,
not being able to forgive
the hospital scene;
You, stoned out of your mind
the loss of our second baby.
Yes, I know it was that bad for you too.
I dreamed of getting hurt,
so that someone would touch me-
carefully.
And now?
Now I do dream about you
saying that you do love me very much
and are very sorry that we parted like we did.
Now in my dreams-
We are confronted by each other
humbled by each other again…

9. 7
And
…now?
here I am for you-
dreaming in sunsets-
dreaming in bright flesh and bones-
in ribbons of red and pink.
And I hold you once more-
in my arms
in my bed
in my dreams…
And teetering between deepness and
darkness-
a new baby in the womb.
…And that’s why
when twice last night
you came to me
in the form of someone else,
I waited…
knowing you…
Can I possibly say now
‚I love you‛ …and make you hear?

10. 8
Tonight … Tonight I love you…I remember you.
I cherish the memory.
Like the Bitter herb eaten at the feast of Passover,
you symbolize my freedom, you symbolize my bondage,
my response-my responsibilities-
I just now looked in on Becky
her crazy hair scattered all over her pillow.
I wanted to kiss her awake
just to be able to look deeply into her eyes-
your eyes; but also I was praying
Rebecca, please don’t wake up soon.
I don’t have the energy to get you a drink.
Jamie, our baby is a picture in the dark.
Someday she’ll be grownup;
Light swept ribs and dune breasts.
A daughter of the dance- Will she catch fire?
Glowing in a candle’s flame? a lover’s eyes?
But now, she is younger than that
And she is good sleeping now-She is beautiful-spread out in sleep artlessly-
But already skilled at the art of illusion;
at the art of making others dream of things to come.

11. 9
I keep thinking that I can smell the Bitter herb in her hair
stirred by you, her father, blowing through-
soft as a breeze.
In sudden pain
Oh Jamie, I need you!
In sudden pain I turn to go away.
But our baby’s awake in the dark.
I was going to close the door.
‚Mommy, mommy where are you going?‛
‚ Hush go to sleep babe.
I’m going out, to sit alone for awhile.‛
She does go to sleep-
my hand smoothing her forehead.
She dreams.
Does she dream of you too?
Does she dream about something that really happened…?
…you looking at me,
a happy smile on your face.

12. 10
Becky comes in dressed in a pink ballerina’s tutu
and a pirate hat,
demanding us.
‚Read me a story.‛
You sat her down on your knee.
She cuddles deeper into her daddy’s arms.
‚I wish I could make it be day all the time.
Daddy where’s the sun now?‛
You looking at her tenderly.
‚Honey, I have it here in my pocket.‛
‛Where? Let me see it.‛
‚Let me show you an egg come out of my ear.‛
An egg pops out of your ear.
‚I’ve seen that egg before, that’s just a trick.
I want to see the sun.‛
You take some matches out of your pocket and light one.
‚See‛
‚It’s gone out. Anyway I want it to be light outside
not inside. When it’s dark outside
You’ll tell me to go to sleep. I’m not tired.‛

13. 11
‚It’s time to go to sleep.‛
‚Oh alright, but first one story.‛
You sigh. You are tired
And you would like to go to sleep.
‚You’re so wide awake,
you should tell me a bedtime story.‛
You start telling your story but Becky doesn’t hear it.
She is asleep in your arms.
Dream on Becky.
You look at me.
‚You’re beautiful, so beautiful. Come to me, my beautiful.‛
Half an hour later, wrapped up in our blankets,
we gave ourselves up to each other in a pure and white act of summer clouds,
my body wrapped around you like a prayer shawl,
even though you have trouble believing in a God.

14. 12
Now I sit in this room
far away from you.
The two clocks tick-
counter beating time against
each other…
hurting…
hurting my head
with memories
running
round and round this room,
pushing the corners of the room…
out of shape.
Remember
Remember
Remember-
Jamie,
Do you remember the play that
we were always acting in?
You, the successful writer,
wearing the mask of an observer.

15. 13
You hungered for my Indifferent Joy
but couldn’t help hunting it to kill.
I was glad for you, when you finished your latest book,
but anger was already overtaking me.
I didn’t want to be a book critic.
I wasn’t interested in standing back.
I wanted to dance, and I wasn’t interested to know-
Who said it was good or not.
We were city dwellers.
Then we were country dwellers.
Just this afternoon-
Becky and I were looking at pictures of the farm.
our ‚dream‛ farm. a place for you to write in peace.
a place for me to grow open. Myself.
and Becky and you.
I look through the camera’s eye into my kitchen,
At the big oak table and the fireplace,
At Becky standing in front of the table,
Where you’ve stopped her, to take a picture.

16. 14
I lay three white bowls onto the table, and the china spoons.
The cat curls around my legs, wanting his too.
Outside the window: Three trees- And wind coming from the west-
the pine, the grey birch, the sugar maple swaying.
Becky runs around the table shouting,
‚Doggie, doggie, I’m a doggie.
I need my milk on the floor.‛
It’s a misty morning.
The hills lie quiet under the mist.
A bird out of sight,
Sings under its breath.
A ladder leans into the branches of the Baldwin tree…
ready for me to climb and gather the harvest.
Picture two…I lean out the barn window,
feeling wind blowing down off the hills,
onto my face; looking out the window at the new falling snow-
strung with simple fences.
I take the newest born calf in my arms,
feeling his heart beat against my hand.

17. 15
Turning to the window again, I take the bone-handled knife out of the windowsill,
cut open a green clover bale and put it in
the manger,
as softly filtered light …settles over all.
Picture three-
New Year’s Eve. Wind is shaking the
house.
I must go out and check one of the cows.
She’s overdue to deliver.
I am tired…..tired….tired….tired….tired
During milking, the milking machine
broke
And I did all the milking by hand.
In the barn again I put down more hay.
The animals all quiet except the calves,
awoken as I stand looking over them.
As they struggle to their feet, I speak softly.
No, I cannot hear the wind in here…

18. 16
Snow is piled under the doors,
patterned like cobwebs on the floor,
light broken into corners, darkness outside.
New Year’s Day. I pulled out the calf.
the rope tied around its legs,
slippery with blood.
I reach into the womb, and unbuckle a leg.
The cow moans, then the calf comes out, born dead-
tongue stretched way out, eyes rolled way back.
So, it died on the way out.
I collapse on the barn floor. I know- I am afraid to know-It’s been awhile
since I’ve danced; since I’ve felt able to dance.
It’s bitterness squatting on the floor, to still everything.
In the death of a calf- the silences of a woman-
who will not let herself be touched
after being told that Joy is not to be had.
I shouldn’t have believed you. And I shouldn’t have blamed you-
for not reaching high enough-lying in the darkness beside you-
daring to dream of nothing at all.

19. 17
….Five minutes pass. I get up. I must. Automatically it’s done,
two pails filled with warm water for the cow
a place found to bury the calf.
You come in- finished with the day’s writing.
Silently, We help each other bury the calf.
The last picture. Becky standing in the July sun
holding a pail full of fresh picked blackberries,
sun shining on her face, shadowing the strong outer husk,
the sweet milk of the corn.

20. 18
Bird. Free?
Freed?
The prisoner dreams. In her dream, she says
‚I won’t. I won’t do it.‛
In her dream a prison guard says softly,
‚It doesn’t matter what you refuse,
We’ll get it anyway.‛
Dream, dream freedom.
I dream of dancing with birds-
flying over my head, they are black,
and my hair is black, and flying…..
The half-written song keeps singing,
that everything is possible;
…but I am weary of this night.
Your birthday and mine twined together,
passing slowly.
Becky alone in her room-
cries out in her sleep.

21. 19
My life empty of you, is a mad thing, that in one powerful flying leap
bounces across my nerve endings, challenging me
to embody Indifferent Joy now;
to dance in spite of-because of
everything.
The madness hits places that I thought,
were insensitive, sleeping,
dreaming,
…dead.
The tears of a tantrum fill a pool
beside the body of a sleeping prince
who will not awaken;
in sleep for a moment…unafraid.
Teeth letting go of laughter-
spawn schools of shining gold fish
which quickly swim beyond reach.

22. 20
Jamie,
sleeping prince.
you’re all afraid of the hidden tiger-
of the long toes.
You’re afraid with your mouth;
afraid with your sleeping eyes-
waiting again for the all powerful leap-
the knowledge of mortality and freedom-
incarnated in one embrace.
Bird…
a fist closes round you…
you panic…
and fly straight into a window…
hitting yourself on the head.
You don’t seem to feel a thing
And fly straight into the window again.
Kama Sutra idiot bird.
It is nearly morning.
I gather up Becky in my arms.
I will fly to you, open window or not-
willing to feel everything, again and again.

23. 21
I open the door.
Two running steps and
Becky and I are in the air
…dressed in the light of the coming dawn
Altitude 900 feet.
Becky keeps her head turned away.
In my arms are only half her eyes.
Then Becky’s mouth is opening,
laughing suddenly,
spreading loose into a valley.
The winds blow her hair into a halo.
Going up-
Altitude 16,000 feet-
and going up.
Beneath us ocean waters break and shine.
Pianos bang up a pile of dark clouds.
It’s getting light out,
as Becky’s eyes turn into mine,
and begin to rain.