Poem for Virginia as Joan of Arc & Poem for Virginia in ecstasy
by Bridget Lowe
[ poetry - november 09 ]
Poem for Virginia as Joan of Arc
In the form of a voice that hated you
your counsel came.
You lowered yourself
to the bathroom floor to hear it.
The world went slow as a drip of something
sugared. You couldn't speak
clearly. You stumbled over birds.
The call of God is gradual.
Alone you stood and flickered
in the kitchen, alone you stood on stage.
The dog stepped around you,
the television throbbed a bruise-colored
comfort, beacon for your bed-boat.
In the basement your father's waders
hung on a hook and, even out of water,
held the shape of a man.
You held the hand of a windowpane
and what sights it showed you,
things it demanded!
When the time came to confess
what you'd seen a doctor was called
to hear you out. You were doubted
because you did not play at recess
with the other girls.
You did not put flowers in your hair
or call a man a god.
Poem for Virginia in ecstasy
Tell me.
Tell me all about it.
The curb you laid down in,
waiting for the ambulance
like it was your chariot.
Your cry
pinging off artificial trees,
the branches hollow reeds
You play as woodwinds,
classical tunes, untaught in your
brutal version of a forest
Where the heart takes precedence,
center stage, and the set
is plywood and wallpaper
And everything clean,
entrances and exits controlled
by the deft hand of a director no one can see.
You fall in love with the director
no one can see
over and over again,
Then signal from the nest
you've built in a high-tree,
catching clouds on your tongue
And throwing them up,
denying yourself the pleasures
his arrogant hand has made.
And in terms of transgressions
no one has died - no,
not even Christ
Who doesn't recognize you,
writhing there at his feet like that,
my friend, my love!
The worm that circles
the wet black orb
of the dead bird's eye
Knows better than you.
It won't get what it wants.
Beggars never do.
