Mia Farrow, Victim Soul (part three)

Some say Roman brought it on himself
by tumbling unsafe numbers
ouija cameras rolled across one sticky “x” too many
cut cut cut

:that counterclockwise pesach
bloodied door, and firstborn dead.

My family is a flesh Winchester House
of shuffled names, uncommon skin;
some tender fort, a
demon-baffling labyrinth I thought

Instead again a knife.
My shorn head

rippled on the blade,
a cameo ghost

You and your wanting heart
I pierced that silk one with terrible care
Then gravely dealt out the stamps,
A patient game.

:Arms crossed, I stare out from the porch
at the usual trees & last year’s birds,
here in this new century
(once unthinkable without him, without her)

I am now as I was then:
A pair of eyes on a stalk

From a distant fragment somewhere in the mind of God I was shown a different Earth, a giant orb, howling out its long symphony of pain – all the sounds of mortal anguish, in the silence and indifference of the stars

The children scream for ponies but I tell them
(hauling up another weary pail of air)
God can only hold our empty hands.