Bucket-Head Boy
Come evening I hunker down
on pensive knees in preparation
for the long haul night.
I keep my head in this bucket.
Comforting aromas have been absorbed
into porous wood. As I sleep,
my tongue recalls the sweet snap
of apples, a single stalk of hay
between my teeth, the tender tang
of salty sweat on sun-burned lips.
In the safety of this darkness
my neck creaks like a rusty hinge,
backbone bunched as an old hemp rope,
knees numb as cemetery stones.
I dislodge my head. I breathe deep
ochre light of morning shed.
Eyes blur inside my skull.
I crack straight to stand,
wait for prayer, food, chores,
listen to the sequestered sounds
outside my purging pail.
From Under The Limbo Stick ©2001for ordering information, see Vivisphere or Mary's website.
from March, 2001 edition