Justice may appear in the guise of a hard, devious mother I want shoes for my baby son my werewolf son

None of you can sing a song The best you can do is breathe every breath opining following the prescribed instrument

which is now a hatchet Justice has Egyptian hair because you’ll be dead; she wants ten dollars from you; I’ve offered mine

None of you sing; you beg for each other’s love in chopped-up phrases: every breath opining a duty to the gods of the times, whose times

Justice isn’t a pleasant woman Her baby has a wolfish face that only I could love; the Egyptian gods have animal heads don’t they: the

dead man loves Justice’s baby Having had his soul weighed by her Take your backpack off, it’s in the way, she says gruffly; he plays

with her hairy baby. I’m trying to tell you, the Law knows you’re as wise as a wolf; only the baby is important; only I can sing

the Law that hard and devious woman says that this is just. You have given birth to another wild hybrid like yourself. I’m following you to your

heights: I’m the only intellectual Justice says–she’s worked in peep shows– You’ll never figure me out; but you owe my baby, and you owe me.

      ~

No world is intact and no one cares about you.

I leaned down over don’t care about, I care about    you I leaned down over the

world in portrayal of carefulness, answering

something you couldn’t say. Walking or fallen and you    were supposed to give therapy to me–

me leaning down brushing with painted feathers to the left of chance your operatic,    broken

book.

From Grave of Light (Wesleyan University Press), by Alice Notley © 2006.