{"id":244,"date":"2012-03-11T17:01:27","date_gmt":"2012-03-11T17:01:27","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/lovingthespider.net\/?page_id=244"},"modified":"2012-04-22T12:07:09","modified_gmt":"2012-04-22T12:07:09","slug":"love-sick-child-by-ahasiw-maskegon-iskwew","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/lovingthespider.net\/?page_id=244","title":{"rendered":"Love-sick Child"},"content":{"rendered":"


\nLove-Sick Child<\/span>
\n
\nIn the late afternoon
\nshe’s brought in.
\nA busy day, big piles of
\nflowers flying in and out,
\nphone’s constant piercing wail
\ncalling out more names;
\nwhen this one arrived.<\/span>
\n
\nThe latest autopsied one was just finished,
\nthat old one was now already in her cleansing bath
\nof purifying and preserving
\nfluid, stuffed with crystals
\nof the same toxic stuff.
\nBut first she had been untied and spread out
\nlike a half-butchered chicken,
\nthen reconstituted, dressed, painted
\nand lavishly boxed,
\nout to a huge dramatic funeral.<\/span>
\n
\nThis new one, she was quiet,
\nnowhere to go, no-one to go to,
\nno-one to set the platitudes
\nor feign some grief,
\nand getting all twisted up with the effort.<\/span>
\n
\nHer butcher-string braid still holding together
\nbeautiful pale skin
\nand terribly young, hard breasts.
\nIt holds together the long cut
\nup from her finely sculpted bush
\nup deep into her soft smooth throat,
\nmeat-string sewn all along in coarse crude stitches.
\nThe coroner’s assistant knew no-one
\nbut the nurses of the dead would see and
\ncouldn’t afford to care anyway.<\/span>
\n
\nIt most of all told: death by misfortune or
\nself-injested misfortune. Misfortune?<\/span>
\n
\nOnly by the glorious, fiercely joyful eyes,
\n(they’re still soft with a sorrowed glaze, but dead)
\nOnly by the little bruises all up and down
\ninside her legs, and the older ones
\non her ribs and neck,
\nand the big ugly one on her face
\nOnly by the tracks
\neverywhere chasing all the good veins
\nCould you tell.<\/span>
\n
\nAlways quietly singing somewhere,
\nhold your breath and listen.
\nDon’t jump when she touches you
\nsoftly in the dark,
\nor when she giggles
\nand momentarily blinds a john
\nat eighty miles an hour
\nto get him to go with her again. <\/span><\/p>\n

\"nenaindex.html\"<\/a>
\n

\n<\/div>
\n

\"Ahasiw<\/p>\n

these words are you
\nyou are these words
\npekisk we’winah (words)
\ni bore you
\nnehtawi’kiwin (a birth)
\nnow these breasts
\nnaski’kun (my breasts)
\nthis womb
\nnistum pimatsi win ka machl’paylk (womb)
\nhave died
\nnikawe nipiw mikawe pooni pimatisiw
\n(my mother has died), (the mother no longer lives)
\nmawihkatowin wesuki tehe’win (mourn)
\nkiya mato (don’t weep)
\nkukwatuku’tamowin (wail)
\nyou bear me
\ni am dead
\ni am you
\nmy flesh
\nnl wiya’sim
\nmy bones
\nniskun
\nmy soul
\nuchahk
\nnow rot for you
\npiskuti’tin
\nrot in you
\npiskuti’tin keya
\ndid you learn
\nkiskeyihta
\nto love death
\nsakehi’towin onipowak
\nwhile loving me
\nsakihi’wiwin neya
\nwhile i lay dying
\nati’nipiw neya
\ndusk is coming
\nwaninak’wahk pe nokwun
\nwait for me
\npehowin neya
\ni will come, crying
\nneya peta’tamow
\nthe wind will carry my voice
\npetas’tew tehta kosi win
\nin the darkness
\nnipisk ‘tipisk
\n<\/h4>\n

<\/div>

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