Diaries

And again, let all the records 
be had in order .. . to be held in 
remembrance from generation to 
generation, saith the Lord of Hosts. 
                        D&C 128:9 

Thou tellest my wanderings: put 
thou my tears into thy bottle: 
are they not in thy book? 
                        Psalms 56:8 

I keep diaries in my head 
At night I write on sealed pages 
In dream codes a         sort 
Of dot-dot-dash Morse himself 
Couldn’t read     keeps them private 
Old loves recur     taller than they were 
Twice as bold 
Dressed in dimestore suits and ties 
I never saw them wear 

And my father 
Who never heard of Neruda 
Gu Cheng or the Cultural Revolution 
Rocks calmly on the porch 
And speaks to me 
Of bread and milk 
I’m sick he says 
And wants to say goodbye 
As if he were not already dead 

This is a book 
My grandchildren will never read 
From pages carelessly left open 
The key    is not in my hand 
Not even in my pocket 
Never will my children say 
Mama tell us of Olden Times 
And turn these pages that open upon 
Old houses     old rooms that suck me in 

Like Alice through the glass 
This world is mine alone 
Where the voices and the windows 
The old mingling of bodies 
And the landscapes are buried what’s here 
Is one raw nerve exposed 
And aching to go where I never can 
To grasp the fleeting things 
That would disappear