United States, (b. 1961)
The Cause of All My Suffering
- My neighbor keeps a box of baby pigs
- all winter in her kitchen. They are
- motherless, always sleeping, sleepy
- creatures of blood & fog, a vapor
- of them wraps my house
- in gauze, and the windows mist up
- with their warm breath, their moist snores. They
- watch her peel potatoes, boil
- water from the floor, wearing
- a steamy gown. She must be like
- Demeter to them, but, like this weather
- to me, this box of pigs
- is the cause of all my suffering. They smell
- of invalids, lotioned. Death is over there. When I
- look toward my neighbor’s house, I see
- trouble looking back
- at me. Horrible life! Horrible town! I start
- to dream their dreams. I dream
- my muzzle’s pressed
- desperately into the whiskered
- belly of my dead mother. No
- milk there. I dream
- I slumber in a cardboard box
- in a human kitchen, wishing, while
- a woman I don’t love
- mushes corn for me in a dish. In
- every kitchen in the Midwest
- there are goddesses & pigs, the sacred
- contagion of pity, of giving, of loss. You can’t
- escape the soft
- bellies of your neighbors’ calm, the fuzzy
- lullabies that drift
- in cloudy piglets across their lawns. I dream
- my neighbor cuts
- one of them open, and stars fall out, and roll
- across the floor. It frightens me. I pray
- to God to give me
- the ability to write
- better poems than the poems of those
- whom I despise. But
- before spring comes, my neighbor’s
- pigs die in her kitchen
- one by one, and I
- catch a glimpse of my own face
- in the empty collection plate, looking
- up at me, hungrily, one
- Sunday—pink, and smudged—and ask it
- Isn’t that enough?
Old Song
- Some pretty girl in a small town
- sits down at the piano to play a song.
- Someone must notify the next of kin.
- Someone must refuse to hear the bad news.
- Some poor fool has to listen:
- Summer again, for the children
- as well as for the blind, like
- a thousand wedding cakes crowded
- into the window of a bakery.
- Those
- rose-pink pigs in their pen, prettily
- awaiting death. The bad news
- inherent in that, like
- a cold snake slipping
- through cold water, like cold water.
About the Poet:
Laura Kasischke, United States, (b. 1961) is a poet, novelist and educator. She has published more than seven collections of poetry and more than seven novels, with poetry awards and multiple well-reviewed works of fiction to her credit. She is the recipient of two fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts, as well as several Pushcart Prizes.
Kasischke attended the University of Michigan and Columbia University. She is also currently a Professor of English Language in the MFA program and of the Residential College at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor, Michigan. [DES-11/19]
Additional information:
- Kasischke’s Website: www.laurakasischke.com
- Univ. of Michigan, faculty Laura Kasischke