Case Number


Home wanted - ring
Two seven one double three.
Lift the ’phone.  Or let it lie.
Lift; right up.
Or lie.
I could stretch the hand like that,
So easy,
Cup the receiver in the hollow of my hand,
Tear from its cradle...
Words.
They lead you on too far.
God have mercy, mercy.

The cradle - souls born into babies,
Swathed in little woolly things - and made by whom I wonder?
Did it hurt - very much?
Knit one, slip one - weep, weep, grey woman - drop one
(No, two; drop two.  Giles 13 and Polly 7),
Pass the slipped ones over
To empty walls,
To makeshift arms,
To lino hard for soft-curled toes in joyless walking,
To smells and space and not a place to hide
Or live or love or let live love or be at peace.

The cradle’s empty now, my Giles, my Polly;
Thirteen, seven,
Dirty heaven, hell on earth today,
Tomorrow, mother gone
And sorrow
Gladdest day compare with your dark night.

Giles thirteen and Polly seven,
Giles and Polly.
Thirteen.  Seven.
Unlucky age, my farmer Giles.
All farmers live upon their losses, so they say,
And you must know that now; you’ll not forget?
Forget - and Polly seven; old, old number
Of perfection;
So aching old at seven,
A child as perfect as that Gift,
That Mary’s child.
What fear - full, weeping travesty.
Polly put the kettle on - they’ve all gone away. 

Giles (thirteen) and Polly (seven) - home wanted, Home
Not wanted.
Not that self-importance.
Cut out the self - home wanted.
A little humble home, with a little, little h
(A lower-case letter, isn’t that it?
Words, words... “he that is low need fear no fall”..)
Giles thirteen and Polly seven

Flung
With battered case (law case, suitcase - all the same)
Flung against the instituted Home.
Charity begins at home, they say.
They say.

Ring 27133.
Ring.
Did she have a ring, the woman?
I have, can have, so much.
Cup the receiver in the hollow of Thy hand
(Cup the water to me who thirst,
To me the receiver of stolen goods - goods once wrenched
                                                                             from love;
Cup the fresh fountain in Thy torn hands
Brimful with mirth and mercy).

Bless the empty cradle.






(Undated, between 1966 and 1970?)