TWO POEMS BY KIMBERLY WHITE

Magdalena

Old woman, she knows the spirits
She knows the spirits all her life
heard their voices in her mother's womb
heard their tauntings even then that she belonged to them
heard their stories of medicine and torture
Born knowing.
Old woman like that, by her age
there is no power left untasted
no demon left unfucked
and she knows, boy, she knows.
So many were shocked when she was shot in the leg
their fear and their awe both shattered and intensified
in one shot
They believed a woman like her to be armored
But she drew that bullet to her
she saw it coming years off and she wooed it
like a lover
She stayed up nights and she dreamed that bullet to her
dreamed it into being at the factory where it was born
brought it across the sea in her own dream boat
dreamed the hands of the man who would pull the trigger
dreamed fear and hate into his eyes
and righteousness into his dark heart
Marriage ceremonies were performed for the bullet and his gun
for herself and the bullet
not quite a marriage made in heaven
Old woman like her, heaven has to wait a very long time

Wild eyes like hers have seen into more dark places
than can be lit by all the flashlights on Earth
She may be an ignorant illiterate junglewoman
but she knows from flashlights
Wild eyes like hers can light the sun
She don't need no stinkin' flashlights.
Weaker humans have died trying to know her
choked by the entrails of her chickens'
but don't worry, she can be strong for all of us
most of us

Old woman, she talks to the snakes
in spirit tongues
tickles their fancies with poetic promises
dreams their power out of them and sends them forth
under cover of dark
to be her eyes and her spies
in the seething jungle worlds
in dark backroom corners
No one penetrates a secret circle
faster and deeper than a snake

Old woman, eight sons she bore
squatting by herself in the jungle
chewing on the roots that grow
in the secret birthing places
eight times alone fed the Earth with her blood
and the ninth time buried an oblation
Old woman like her knows these mountain jungles
better than anyone alive
better than the tree-dwellers and the ground-crawlers
because her shade and her snakes wander the night times
with both
She knows the spirits
She has flown with them and dreamed with them
swam with them in crystal waters
chased by them through infected swamps
imprisoned by them for rational longings
loved by them in multitudes
tormented by them and their tricksters
from the heights of ecstasy and the depths of pain
no shortcuts on either path

Magdalena, she took that name from a priest
made it her own
when she feigned baptism in exchange for autonomy
That priest, he wasn't half bad in the dark
but it was the name she liked best
mag...da...lennnnna it rolls on her breath
a spell of its own
enough name to contain her strongest magic
and carry it anywhere
just by utterance
mag...da...lennnnna
say it. Don't say it!

no message, no invitation, no plea for charity
just the mark of her blood
and a photo one hundred years old
She has danced with thousands, and with a bullet in her leg
She will dance with thousands more
Incant with her
but watch for the clutching fingers
reaching up through the cracks
and the screaming you hear
will usually be your own.

copyright 2000 Kimberly White

Hi-Ho, John Ashcroft

Saddle up, Cowboy
Strap on that dildo badge
and tally-ban - I mean, tally-ho!
Somewhere in America tonight,
someone is doing something wrong
and someone else is whispering about it
but they're not going to tell you.
They're not going to tell you about
the anti-NRA cartoons
on the refrigerator door
of the guy across the street
or the Free Palestine bumper sticker
in the grocery store parking lot
They're looking the other way
while their kids read the Koran
just to see what it says
I don't think they're taking you seriously.
It's a gospel only you can spread
Hi-Ho!

That's right, Cowboy
Somewhere in America tonight,
a woman is slipping her leash
Leaving her husband, becoming a lesbian,
killing her children and practicing witchcraft
all at the same time
Once a superwoman, always a superwoman
Somewhere in America tonight,
a doctor whispers forbidden words
in the ear of a dying man
and hands him the means to end his pain
Daring to play God when really, that's your job
Somewhere in America tonight, 
someone is using their seditious thoughts 
to write a poem
taking your name in vain
and defaming your mission
Somewhere, a teacher loses no sleep
after teaching a child 
to question authority
who then uses this teaching
to tell his parents he's a Buddhist
and can't go to church anymore
Freedom of speech doesn't apply to them,
you can find a way.
Hi-Ho!

Never drop your guard, Cowboy
Don't let your divine mission falter
because your bible says this is war
and only you can save America from itself
Oh, the burdens that consume you,
bearing the weight of an ungrateful nation
that goes about their lives without giving you a thought
Without having the basic American decency
to rat out their neighbor
or respect your name
foolishly believing in world peace
and universal tolerance
in the face of biblical pronouncements
to the contrary
It's up to you to hunt them down, Cowboy
Do not rest until the last bare-breasted
statue in America is covered
Hi-Ho!



I hate white wine

An eighteen-year-old is still a virgin
no matter how many lovers 
she has shed
This baby adulthood
or is it adult babyhood
phase of knowing everything
and knowing nothing all at once
sheds no enlightenment
on a species so obsessed
with singularities of speed
and light and mind

one alcoholic interlude
on a Friday night
back when Friday nights,
Saturday nights, even Sundays were
spent shaking off the machinations
and navigations
of that new grown-up job,
back when it was still novel
to buy your own food
write your own checks
watch your own back
deconstruct your
own temptations 
and distractions
That was the time 
for serious partying
serious worrying
This is SERIOUS you know,
You're an adult now
and the gutter is one paycheck away
Stick your toe in 
have another drink
and another
fill up that beer mug
with Gallo Chablis
and chug-a-lug
It's a big jug
and it's only Friday
So far to go
so much you don't know
so much for one glass to hold
you can fill and refill it
but it still overflows
more into you
than your roommate,
warning you to slow down
Yeah, I'll go slow,
up these stairs
on all fours
Up one, down two
floating on out to sea
and then a miracle occurs
I have acheived the second floor
I am drunk and triumphant
on this spinning floor
then the wine comes up 
like a tornado
blowing through my guts
reminding me how virgin
I really am.
Eighteen, yeah.
How I miss it.
Still smell it
in cheap apartments
Santa Ana winds
and white wine.

copyright 6-1-02  Kimberly White  Kimberly3x3@aol.com