The next poem--
I'm sorry it's not going to get any lighter --is,
it's a poem based on an account of a rape in Seattle.
I was living in the area at the time
and I was moved by the story.
I wrote this poem [INAUDIBLE] which has a sort of "This
Is The House That Jack Built" rhythm to it, in part.
And a couple of-- actually, several years later,
I went into the open books of the poetry emporium
in Seattle and the owners told me
that a woman had come into the store
and bought up all the copies-- not
that there were many --of Candy Necklace that
were in the store, and she turned out that she
was the victim of the rape.
And I said, "Oh".
I said, "Oh, was she upset?
I hope she wasn't upset."
And they said, "No, she was glad that the poem had
been written."
It's called, "Can That Be She."
"This is the bathroom where he let her clean herself up,
disgusting blood-rag.
This is the arise-and-color that held the pistol.
This is the pistol that shot light into the shadow men
at the firing range.
These are the bullets her watery fingers jammed into the pistol
for god's sake mean it.
You can imagine the yelp of the animal boy.
He pissed himself here, in the jeans.
This is the hand the gun yessed yes
she could wait one more minute before firing again.
It was because 911 said don't kill him
that she didn't kill him.
The voice wanted to know his age,
she asked him how old are you going to be when you die.
He said twenty-one.
She said to the voice twenty-one.
These are the policemen who broke through her door,
she wasn't hearing them.
This is the nakedness shocked back into itself
as they stared.
They wanted to wrench her nose straight again.
Jagged teeth she must have bitten the little
bastard to the bone.
The dental assistants called her Amazon
she knew she wasn't in this world anymore.
You can hear the women's voices lined up
in the courtroom to hector him.
This is the violent boy look at me bitch
when I come sitting sour alone.
The same who'd felt sunflower tissuey pooled and warm when
he got back in.
The same who hit her nose her ear
when he entered her because he would not give in.
This is his sentence, 66 years.
This is hers.
How climb the ladder to the woman she was?
How cut the new screen without slicing her skin?
How wake her without letting her see the woman no longer
in the world?"