BY JAN HAAG
PURSUING HER FATHER
5-31-86
He was divorced
and dead, long before she grew from
blue eyed infancy to black haired,
outcast, temptress,
curious maiden, maddened sheep,
mercurical
bearer of anguish, with efforts at eating health
foods,
with hopes that it would all change someday and soon.
But life was like
that, it fluttered in a mourning
song, glittered at high noon, before the
clouds blew strong
from the west from where the weather came, it
seeped out
slowly in curiosity, in a slow drip
as of blood from a
prick that became fatal by
all these things we go through, the odd
hurts and the wails.
She was right and she would pursue him, dead and
dark
haired, until she carved out the wound that would hurt
her
most, cancel her curiosity, scourge her guts,
nail her on a cross
where she could cry forsaken,
for three days and three nights or for
thirty years 'til
the Hindu's choice for joy danced across her toes,
woke
her to enjoy -- like quaffing of the noontime tea,
all these things we go through, the odd hurts and the joy.
Copyright © 2000 Jan Haag
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Jan Haag may be reached via e-mail: jhaag@u.washington.edu
"...The Cattle Have Diamond Bones..."
Gifts
India
Nothing
BY JAN HAAG