Seven

by Lydia Tomkiw

Last night, the tide was high.
Seven women dressed in white swayed seven different ways
While a boy at the piano played " A Pack of Hearts."
We were tired of being mild,
We wanted tornado, our lips painted red.
Was it the night that was barking?
Only the Buddhists were sleeping, dreaming of the Orient blazing,
Surprising itself.

Seven naked boys carried seven yellow candles
Into the darkened fields
While I stole a box of father's hair and set it to the wind.
We arrived at the party, dressed as water,
Eyes slick red from thinking, waiting for a nervous twitch,
A steady hum inside our bones;
We were tired of being mild, we wanted hurricane
And secret brideknives at our sides.

Seven nets were cast into the water, pulling
Seven older women up;
Bruised faces in the moonlight- was your sister among them?
The one with the slender hands?
The one that wanted nothing but music all day long?
Bowls of water are set out for the dead,
Pan-faced gangsters in the funeral home;
The casket' s kicked over, the corpse on the floor . ..
We were tired of being mild, the ominous blur,
N estied in the motorcade, backseat and obscure.

Seven cannons were shot cross town to honor
Seven modern lovers
While a sailor sung a hymn to Ruby and her shoes.
A burst of pigeons pierced the heavy summer air.
Dressed in bullets, we were tired of being mild.
We wanted tidal-wave,
The taste of bile pumping hard into our throats.
The bomb went off and we scattered through the alley;
No one noticed-they were caught up in the golly.

Seven oily children spoke in seven different tongues
And we slipped out of church, backdoor,
Into the rural night. .... . ... .
Black, black meadow and fanndog barking,
Dark farmhouse and we go around the back:
Through the window, she is there,
Face as tame as milk;
We were,
We were thumping,
Our blood thick inside our veins ...

Seven falling stars pierced seven empty barns
And the silo caught on fire.
The rape went on, backwoods upon the unthawed ground ....
A harnessed giggle, an eerie caress:
We longed to be exiled to snow,
To be the gut of a pearl
Gleaming.





Last updated February 23, 2023