After Michael Ondaatje
King Midas
Driving to Birmingham, she tells you the story
of King Midas—how when he was cursed with donkey ears
he swore his barber to secrecy.
It was too much for the barber so he dug a hole
deep in the woods and whispered into it:
King Midas has donkey ears! Reeds grew
there and repeated the secret until
it got back to the king. Every time
she tells you the story, the barber's punishment changes.
The Birds
Her father took her hunting when she was seven, maybe eight.
She wore the field jacket, long as a dress,
her hands in the pockets weighted with dead birds.
The Photograph
When her grandmother was just five years married,
two babies at home, her husband was killed.
Someone sent her a picture of him, pants open,
castrated and hanging from a low limb,
his feet just inches from the ground. She has spent
every day since filling that space with anything she could think of.
King Midas
There is another version of King Midas—
after each haircut, he killed the barber
until all the barbers were dead
and boys were chosen for the job instead by lottery
until one escaped or killed the king
or was pardoned for some special quality.
Sideshow
She digs a hole and fills it.
You sit on her bed. She's been back over a year
and won't let you touch her. For hours,
she shows you pictures from the war but not of it
—camouflaged strangers with equipment,
with landscape, sometimes with her.
