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OIL

by Geraldine Green

He wore the easy sound of a smile on his finger,

the ribbon-wrapped present on his tongue,

the smile of a thousand poor nations under his skin.

He carried the smile of a dying child in his eyes,

the smile of impoverished people with swollen bellies

of children in his kitbag, as he walked away from the war.

He carried blackened corpses, broken rivers, peeled lemons,

wrappers of sweets, plastic bottles, cones, bayonets,

tank turrets, swarm of bees, ants that stung like fire –

or was that the rain of bullets?

easy swung hips of tall women, heads loaded with water jugs,

hearts loaded with nothing, wombs full of unborn children.

He walked away across the desert of old people,

ancient camels, palms, pocket maps, chewing gum and petrol.

He saw flames of hope in the distance.

He saw Jesus and Mother Teresa. He knelt down

at the water hole, hands cupped green water.

I AM THE NEWS

by Geraldine Green

I can jump a three thousand year old desert called

the Atlantic ocean I can bound over the mountains of the moon

I can bend over the back side of Jupiter for you

I cannot call you mine

I cannot call you mine

I can allow the seas to send seven songs of wisdom

from their deep throated estuaries

I can allow that the stars will shine, oh, I don't know

a million times! but I cannot call that song mine

I cannot call the rain mine

I cannot recall the song you sang mine

you are that tiny millionth breath from me mine

that zenith towards god, mine

that plunge towards the abyss,

mine, that singing Arabic donkey on the railroad,

mine, that unremembered song, mine

that one hundred dollar gold bullion mine

that star fish in an aquarium mine

that oh I don't know you tell me, mine.

I am a jackass, yours,

I am a six thousand year old cave painting, yours,

I am a bat in an attic, yours

I am a bee in a ceiling, yours

I am a butterfly in a lanternhouse, yours

you are that lofty, love making, arm-bending, granite-

crunching heart mine, you are the fly

that settles on my morning paper, mine

I am the spider that crawls across your bathroom tap yours

you are the mouse that runs from your cat, mine

I am the scarecrow that hangs around your living room floor, mine

you are the sunbeam that races over the carpet that needs turning, mine

I am the corner that you are about to walk around mine

you are the television set I will now turn on, yours.

I am the news you are about to hear, mine.

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