I'm going to read six poems.
Five poems?
[LAUGHTER]
That I've written since this book.
"Spider Plant."
"When I opened my eyes this morning,
the fact of it shooting out long, thin, green runners
on which miniatures of the mother will sprout,
and that each of these offshoots could, in its own time,
repeat this, terrified me.
And something seemed awful in the syllables of the word
'Brenda,' sounding inside me before they made a name,
then making a name of no one I've known.
I had been dreaming I was married to Patty again.
She kept coming on my tongue.
And I knew if I put my cock in, we'd
have to stay together this time.
But I wanted to and did.
And as I did, the sadness and pleasure of our nine years
washed through me as a river.
Yet I knew this wasn't right, it couldn't work,
and though we were now enmeshed forever,
I began to rise from my body making love
with her on the bed and hover at a little distance over both
of us.
That's when I awoke and saw the spider plant."