Eclogue

 

 

 

YouÕll repent later, make your prayers

to an Easter cross of calla lilies:

                 

                  Yes IÕm sorry I think IÕm sorry—

 

five whole books of Moses

too few to teach you not to

make smart girls feel funny. 

 

What on GodÕs green ground has

escaped your small eyes?  In Arcadia

you trip over all those sheep:

 

                  IÕm sure IÕm sorry I must be sorry. 

 

No, nor am I when you recite

in the faux French of your mother

the complete birdsongs

which twisted your young ear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

GrigsbyÕs Bluff

(A Cultural History)

 

 

 

Funny animals—weÕve done all we could

think of with rocks, wind, the direction of water. 

See?  I made it to scale myself.  He tugs at the sides.

                                    When I put my hand here, let go. 

 

Under the wings of birds, we fully expected

to stay dry or move silently through nighttime.

We canÕt decide—decorate, or hide the women?  

All my life, IÕve never had to buy eggs.  Hand me the basket. 

 

We arrange into categories hypnotically, sorting trees.

If anyone can build a boat from three wet branches, I can.

                  HowÕd you like to have a name like a bad card trick? 

                  HowÕd you like to have your only post office closed?

 

In the floating world engineers measure every-

thing by the height of their knees, keep their tools

on the backs of black-bellied whistling ducks who

have proven loyal as geese or swans. 

                 

                  Like a mallard you purse your gray head

                  and red beak to speak, to catcall decoys,

                  to whisper pidgin-French mating songs—

                  This is how it went for the first 60 years.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Odeon

 

 

 

Why Captain, I had no idea.

 

In the tub I turn purple

like an anemone;

 

see? itÕs the goblins

in the skin, they

smell water—

 

a Butterball turkey.

 

Your distinguished

prow could use a

 

mermaid or some

other topless lady,

 

Cicciolina, maybe.

 

I would touch you

at La Dolce Vita

on the big screen—

 

fly a statue of

the Virgin over me.

 

WhatÕs the name

of that triangle (if it

 

were metal, if I owned

a tuning-fork) keeping

the billiard-balls together?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

E.C. Messer lives in Chicago where she has learned to embrace snow and mass transit.  She is currently pursuing her MFA in writing at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.  Her landlord says the building she lives in was once owned by Al Capone, but she figures they tell that to everyone who moves here from California.