In the North Sea, I was issued this survival
suit and hired to dive.
From the chopper I looked into towers
neat as watchworks, fortresses
with orange flares that roared
in gassy, dragonish glamor, with oily steel
stairs whose perforations distantly [...]
to my mother, Mary Callahan Fulton
These gates are forever open: Trees weeping dishevelments
of leaves, Victorian granite
extravagances and sticky
tombstone verse are overruled.
Instead, cinderblock discount outlets
merge with headstones, plain
Heat incubates: memories hatch
rapidly as fish roe. Hello to the gold
circle pins in blue Peter Pan
collars, the jaundiced
belly-up of Woolworth turtles
trapped in lacquered shells, the doll
with an up-do the color of cologne.
And hello sun: a touch- [...]