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That frightful scarecrow
thing
from me -- the way it tocked up
through cinders
from the foul black cellar rising, singing
"What's my name?"
squeaking, insistent,
keeping up a skip and a hop
to garble its already crippled walk,
never ceasing to sing, wildly!
Even now, something
cautiously
remembers how once in a while,
now long ago, it poised its life like a leap
and came close to getting away.
Something in me heard it in time
and quickly clipped it.
Now, no less crazily,
but with one wing only, it will come
skip-hop and play games with my fear.
So here it comes dodging
dip-swerving, twisting like a trophy
zig-zag -- like a game.
Shouting "I'm joy imprisoned, who are you?"
And whispers in my garbled unwilling ear --
all I'll admit of my name.
Andrew
Glaze was born in Alabama, lived in New York, and has been in Miami
the last twelve yeras where he inherited a house. He has been published
in the New Yorker, Atlantic, New York Quarterly, Poetry Chicago
and many small magazines. His Selected Poems, published last year,
has won two awards. His new book "Remebering Thunder," is due out
in Fall 2001 from New South Press.
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