At Mercy Manor
Ah, this night this night mortality wails out
Over Saint Joseph’s this night and every over Mercy Mercy
Mercy Manor. Who can be dressed right for the long cry
Who can have his tie knotted to suit the cinder Doctors’
Parking Lot? O yes I’m walking and we go I go
In into a whorehouse
And convent rolled
Over Saint Joseph’s this night and every over Mercy Mercy
Mercy Manor. Who can be dressed right for the long cry
Who can have his tie knotted to suit the cinder Doctors’
Parking Lot? O yes I’m walking and we go I go
In into a whorehouse
And convent rolled
Into into something into the slant streets of slum
Atlanta. I’ve brought the House Mother
A bottle of gin. She goes for ice
Rattling the kitchen somewhere over under
The long cry. Fay hasn’t come in
Yet; she’s scrubbing
Atlanta. I’ve brought the House Mother
A bottle of gin. She goes for ice
Rattling the kitchen somewhere over under
The long cry. Fay hasn’t come in
Yet; she’s scrubbing
For Doctor Evans. Television bulks as the girls pass
In, rising
Up the stairs, and one says to me, What
Say, Good Looking. Something wails like a held-down saint
In Saint Joseph’s. The kids, the Mother the House
Mother says, all act like babies these days. Some of them are, I say
in a low scream. Not all, she says, not all.
You ever been a nurse?
I ask. No; my husband was in wholesale furniture.
Passed away last year of a kidney
Disease; they couldn’t do anything for him
At all: he said you go and work
With those girls who’ve been so good
To me. And here I am, Good
Looking. Fay ought to be
Here in a little while.
In, rising
Up the stairs, and one says to me, What
Say, Good Looking. Something wails like a held-down saint
In Saint Joseph’s. The kids, the Mother the House
Mother says, all act like babies these days. Some of them are, I say
in a low scream. Not all, she says, not all.
You ever been a nurse?
I ask. No; my husband was in wholesale furniture.
Passed away last year of a kidney
Disease; they couldn’t do anything for him
At all: he said you go and work
With those girls who’ve been so good
To me. And here I am, Good
Looking. Fay ought to be
Here in a little while.
The girls that went up are coming
Down, turning the leaves
Of the sign-out book. You waiting for Fay? Yes.
She’ll be a little while.
Down, turning the leaves
Of the sign-out book. You waiting for Fay? Yes.
She’ll be a little while.
OK.
More ice, to ice-pack
The gin. The last door opens.
It is Fay. This night mortality wails out. Who died,
My love? Whom could you not do anything for? Is that some stranger’s
Blood on your thigh? O love I know you by the Lysol smell you give
Vaseline. Died died
The gin. The last door opens.
It is Fay. This night mortality wails out. Who died,
My love? Whom could you not do anything for? Is that some stranger’s
Blood on your thigh? O love I know you by the Lysol smell you give
Vaseline. Died died
On the table.
She’ll just be a minute. These are good girls, the Mother
Says. Fay’s a good girl. She’s been married; her aunt’s
Says. Fay’s a good girl. She’s been married; her aunt’s
Keeping the kids. I reckon you know that, though.
I do,
And I say outside
Of time, there must be some way she can strip
Blood off somebody’s blood strip and comb down and out
That long dark hair. She’s overhead
Naked she’s streaming
Of time, there must be some way she can strip
Blood off somebody’s blood strip and comb down and out
That long dark hair. She’s overhead
Naked she’s streaming
In the long cry she has her face in her hands
In the shower, thinking of children
Her children in and out
OE Saint Joseph’s she is drying my eyes burn
Like a towel and perfume and disinfectant battle
In her armpits she is stamping
In the shower, thinking of children
Her children in and out
OE Saint Joseph’s she is drying my eyes burn
Like a towel and perfume and disinfectant battle
In her armpits she is stamping
On the ceiling to get her shoes to fit: Lord, Lord, where are you,
Fay? O yes, you big cow-bodied
Love O yes you have changed
To black you are in deep
Dark and your pale face rages
With fatigue. Mother Mother House
Mother of Mercy
Manor, you can have the rest
Fay? O yes, you big cow-bodied
Love O yes you have changed
To black you are in deep
Dark and your pale face rages
With fatigue. Mother Mother House
Mother of Mercy
Manor, you can have the rest
Of the gin. The cinders of the parking lot are blazing all around
Saint Joseph’s; the doctors are leaving. Turn out the light as you go up
To your husband’s furniture, and come
Here to me, you big
Bosomed hard handed hard
Working worker for Life, you. I’ll give you something
Good something like a long cry
Out over the ashes of cars something like a scream through hundreds of bright
Saint Joseph’s; the doctors are leaving. Turn out the light as you go up
To your husband’s furniture, and come
Here to me, you big
Bosomed hard handed hard
Working worker for Life, you. I’ll give you something
Good something like a long cry
Out over the ashes of cars something like a scream through hundreds of bright
Bolted-down windows. O take me into
Your black. Without caring, care
For me. Hold my head in your wide scrubbed
Hands bring up
My lips. I wail like all
Saint Joseph’s like mortality
This night and I nearly am dead
In love Collapsed on the street struck down
By my heart, with the wail
Coming to me, borne in ambulances voice
By voice into Saint Joseph’s nearly dead
On arrival on the table beyond
All help: She would bend
Over me like this sink down
With me in her white dress
Changing to black we sink
Down flickering
Your black. Without caring, care
For me. Hold my head in your wide scrubbed
Hands bring up
My lips. I wail like all
Saint Joseph’s like mortality
This night and I nearly am dead
In love Collapsed on the street struck down
By my heart, with the wail
Coming to me, borne in ambulances voice
By voice into Saint Joseph’s nearly dead
On arrival on the table beyond
All help: She would bend
Over me like this sink down
With me in her white dress
Changing to black we sink
Down flickering
Like television like Arthur Godfrey’s face
Coming on huge happy
About us happy
About everything O bring up
My lips hold them down don’t let them cry
With the cry close closer eyeball to eyeball
In my arms, O queen of death
Alive, and with me at the end.
Coming on huge happy
About us happy
About everything O bring up
My lips hold them down don’t let them cry
With the cry close closer eyeball to eyeball
In my arms, O queen of death
Alive, and with me at the end.