Help

 

Help

My neighbor, a beauty, runs naked
into the woods chanting a sing-songy 
"Help me, help help, me me."
I find her rolling in thorns,
stuffing her mouth with leaves.
I say, "Please come with me."
She says, "Blackberry tea."

Dark electric hair
above dimpled thighs.
Dazed eyes.

The mind cannot tell what the flesh will not say.
She bleeds from back and butt.
I reach out my hand.
She flees barefoot, through brambles.
Somebody has called the volunteer fire brigade.
We come upon her in the hollow of a redwood.
Again I offer my hand. She clutches
and suddenly pulls palm to belly.
In a jolt the fingers know all. 

Grit, sweat, womb. 
Flesh of madness 
as pulse, as tomb.

I am paralyzed.
A fireman takes her arm, 
wraps body in blanket,
stuffs her into the cab of 
a fire truck the color of blood. 
Responders remove helmets 
and yellow slicker raincoats.
Flashing lights go suddenly dark.
Radio sputters farewell; neighbors disperse. 
Soon street and forest are silent.
My hand still burns. 

…..

From my book Son of a Poet

Note: In touching a person you may learn that you are the one who is touched. Decades later I still remember the jolt I felt from this woman as the electric confusion of her brain passed through her belly to my fingers. 

Hear me: 

@joecottonwood