HERE & THERE

in memory of Rachel Jane McDowall 10.1.1973-22.11.2001


Each hour's a stone kicked by kids in Nikes
your way. You half-explain to Rachel Jane
'Death is when you leave our house for the street:
your scarf trailing, a silk cortege
scattering pigeons..' And your voice splashes
a white-washed courtyard,
graffiti

for the unemployed dust that hangs around
the tobacconist's sign - a sign that flicks
God's fly-blown light off your shoulders, over
the bodies of strangers. These days,
while His sky rests on our earth, you plot out
your daughter's options
through a glass

darkly, through blackberries that catch the scarf
she knitted for your birthday. A sundial
quickening your fingertips, you can tell
the time. 'I'm bound by the beauty..'
You stride between trees that are the history
you don't want to know
by heart, no.

What is this doll's head doing in the dirt,
mouth silent with the dung-beetle? Too much.
One more overworked horse you're shuddering
as if your vertebrae were ducts
for steam; as if Boyle's Law meant you could cool
off despite her scent
in your hair,

her hair at your neck; as if good luck was
under this stone.'I'm bound by desire,
I'm bound to keep returning, I'm bound
 by the beauty of the light.' So
what are you going to do - when doing
it does not go half
the distance?

Imagine.


[Note: excerpts from Jane Siberry's 'Bound by the Beauty' are included by permission of the artist]