drinking song

What do I know? Nothing. Isolation. Fear. Come to me from your diddy diddy tree, bones grown twisted, draped with dry skin. The wind animates animates: like the river, the horse. The horse is a horse of course of course until she is my unborn child, my body, a tumor. Our love, my love, blown. Bits bark scales, weighted, weightless, growing. Drink from the dry well: poison so sweet you’d name it mother’s milk.

But mother is a man, running. His ass is wide his ass is soft the bear is always coming. He manufactures jelly and tug where love used to reach. Where love used to touch he wishes for teeth, teeth as sharp and astute as the bear’s.

Bring back, bring back, bring back the bear to me, to me.

Despair is headless. Despair is headless horse running through oak trees. Despair is bones wrapped in moss, clacking. The wind animates, animates: the diddy diddy tree blows over.

In the center is the bear’s heart, beating. Pet it, swallow. Tissues under nails, sinews between teeth, splinters. Diddy diddy splinters, shards that grow roots. In the roots my father sleeps. He is peaceful he is dead his pain is over now, over. I carry it in a bottle I carry it in a bladder sac I cut from his gut. I drink from it, sutures, back wash. I drink at the root of the diddy diddy tree. He reaches for me, drunk. Sadder than the bear can imagine being, his hands. His hands that beat his hands that bind his hands that hold warm bottles alone in the night. Hang nails. Knuckles. Paper cuts. Life line.

I have a picture of his hands. He holds me. Or my sister. He holds a baby and beside him my dead great-grandmother smiles and beside him my dead grandfather smiles and I know nothing. I am dead, new born, someone else, drinking.

The family secret passed through generations is to swallow.

3 thoughts on “drinking song

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