Original Fire Read Online Free PDF Page A

was that the old rascal had converted and was carving the Virgin Mary, or maybe Saint Joseph, or perhaps again the people’s own Blessed Kateri, right in his front yard. Potchikoo put up a canvas screen and worked there every single day. The wrenching sound of his chisel and the tapping of his mallet could be heard at any time, but he allowed no glimpse of his masterwork. He gave no interviews. Just kept working. Not until the statue was finished did he speak, and then it was only a notice of the unveiling. Which would occur on Easter morning.
    At least a hundred people gathered after Mass, and another hundred were there already, waiting for the canvas that surrounded the statue to drop. Potchikoo was very pleased, and made a most glorious speech. The speech was long, and very satisfying to Potchikoo, and at the end of it he suddenly pulled the cord that held the curtain before the statue.
    Silence. There was a lot of silence from the people. Potchikoo interpreted their silence as awe, and for sure, he felt the awe of it too. For the statue of himself had all of his unmistakable features, including the fantasy of his favorite part of himself at its most commanding. Those who were religious shook their heads and quickly left. Those who weren’t, but who had good taste, left as well. That left only the pagans with bad taste to admire what they saw, but that was enough for Potchikoo. He considered his project a success. During the years of quiet happiness that followed with Josette he never mislaid his hat, as there was a place to hang it right beside the door.

The Butcher’s Wife
    1
    Once, my braids swung heavy as ropes.
    Men feared them like the gallows.
    Night fell
    When I combed them out.
    No one could see me in the dark.
     
    Then I stood still
    Too long and the braids took root.
    I wept, so helpless.
    The braids tapped deep and flourished.
     
    A man came by with an ox on his shoulders.
    He yoked it to my apron
    And pulled me from the ground.
    From that time on I wound the braids around my head
    So that my arms would be free to tend him.
    2
    He could lift a grown man by the belt with his teeth.
    In a contest, he’d press a whole hog, a side of beef.
    He loved his highballs, his herring, and the attentions of women.
    He died pounding his chest with no last word for anyone.
     
    The gin vessels in his face broke and darkened. I traced them
    Far from that room into Bremen on the Sea.
    The narrow streets twisted down to the piers.
    And far off, in the black, rocking water, the lights of trawlers
    Beckoned, like the heart’s uncertain signals,
    Faint, and final.
    3
    Of course I planted a great, full bush of roses on his grave.
    Who else would give the butcher roses but his wife?
    Each summer, I am reminded of the heart surging from his vest,
    Mocking all the high stern angels
    By pounding for their spread skirts.
     
    The flowers unfurl, offering themselves,
    And I hear his heart pound on the earth like a great fist,
    Demanding another round of the best wine in the house.
    Another round, he cries, and another round all summer long,
    Until the whole damn world reels toward winter drunk.

That Pull from the Left
    Butch once remarked to me how sinister it was
    alone, after hours, in the dark of the shop
    to find me there hunched over two weeks’ accounts
    probably smoked like a bacon from all those Pall-Malls.
     
    Odd comfort when the light goes, the case lights left on
    and the rings of baloney, the herring, the parsley,
    arranged in the strict, familiar ways.
     
    Whatever intactness holds animals up
    has been carefully taken, what’s left are the parts.
    Just look in the cases, all counted and stacked.
     
    Step-and-a-Half Waleski used to come to the shop
    and ask for the cheap cut, she would thump, sniff, and finger.
    This one too old. This one here for my supper.
    Two days and you do notice change in the texture.
     
    I have seen them the day before slaughter.
    Knowing the outcome from the moment they enter
    the