Michael Ondaatje Poems
|1.||[Kissing the stomach]||4/18/2017|
|2.||The Great Tree||4/18/2017|
|3.||Nine Sentiments (IX)||4/18/2017|
|5.||[What were the names of the towns]||4/18/2017|
|7.||The Time Around Scars||4/18/2017|
|10.||Notes For The Legend Of Salad Woman||1/13/2003|
|12.||Speaking To You (From Rock Bottom)||1/13/2003|
|13.||Application For A Driving License||1/13/2003|
|15.||To A Sad Daughter||1/13/2003|
|16.||The Cinnamon Peeler||1/13/2003|
The Cinnamon Peeler
If I were a cinnamon peeler
I would ride your bed
And leave the yellow bark dust
On your pillow.
Your breasts and shoulders would reek
You could never walk through markets
without the profession of my fingers
floating over you. The blind would
stumble certain of whom they approached
though you might bathe
under rain gutters, monsoon.
Here on the upper thigh
at this smooth pasture
neighbour to you hair
or the crease
that cuts your back. This ankle.
You will be known among strangers
as the cinnamon peeler's wife.
I could hardly ...
Catch, my Uncle Jack said
and oh I caught this huge apple
red as Mrs Kelly's bum.
It's red as Mrs Kelly's bum, I said
and Daddy roared
and swung me on his stomach with a heave.
Then I hid the apple in my room
till it shrunk like a face
growing eyes and teeth ribs.