Sun-Up

(Shadows over a cradle...     fire-light craning....     A hand     throws something in the fire     and a smaller hand     runs into the flame and out again,     singed and empty....     Shadows     settling over a cradle...     two hands     and a fire.)     I     CELIA     Cherry, cherry,     glowing on the hearth,     bright red cherry....     When you try to pick up cherry     Celia's shriek     sticks in you like a pin.              :    :     When God throws hailstones     you cuddle in Celia's shawl     and press your feet on her belly     high up like a stool.     When Celia makes umbrella of her hand.     Rain falls through     big pink spokes of her fingers.     When wind blows Celia's gown up off her legs     she runs under pillars of the bank -     great round pillars of the bank     have on white stockings too.              :    :     Celia says my father     will bring me a golden bowl.     When I think of my father     I cannot see him     for the big yellow bowl     like the moon with two handles     he carries in front of him.              :    :     Grandpa, grandpa...     (Light all about you...     ginger... pouring out of green jars...)     You don't believe he has gone away and left his great coat...     so you pretend... you see his face up in the ceiling.     When you clap your hands and cry, grandpa, grandpa, grandpa,     Celia crosses herself.              :    :     It isn't a dream....     It comes again and again....     You hear ivy crying on steeples     the flames haven't caught yet     and images screaming     when they see red light on the lilies     on the stained glass window of St. Joseph.     The girl with the black eyes holds you tight,     and you run... and run     past the wild, wild towers...     and trees in the gardens tugging at their feet     and little frightened dolls     shut up in the shops     crying... and crying... because no one stops...     you spin like a penny thrown out in the street.     Then the man clutches her by the hair....     He always clutches her by the hair....     His eyes stick out like spears.     You see her pulled-back face     and her black, black eyes     lit up by the glare....     Then everything goes out.     Please God, don't let me dream any more     of the girl with the black, black eyes.              :    :     Celia's shadow rocks and rocks...     and mama's eyes stare out of the pillow     as though she had gone away     and the night had come in her place     as it comes in empty rooms...     you can't bear it -     the night threshing about     and lashing its tail on its sides     as bold as a wolf that isn't afraid -     and you scream at her face, that is white as a stone on a grave     and pull it around to the light,     till the night draws backward... the night that walks alone     and goes away without end.     Mama says, I am cold, Betty, and shivers.     Celia tucks the quilt about her feet,     but I run for my little red cloak     because red is hot like fire.              :    :     I wish Celia     could see the sea climb up on the sky     and slide off again...     ...Celia saying     I'd beg the world with you....     Celia... holding on to the cab...     hands wrenched away...     wind in the masts... like Celia crying....     Celia never minded if you slapped her     when the comb made your hairs ache,     but though you rub your cheek against mama's hand     she has not said darling since....     Now I will slap her again....     I will bite her hand till it bleeds.     It is cool by the port hole.     The wet rags of the wind     flap in your face.     II     THE ALLEY     Because you are four years old     the candle is all dressed up in a new frill.     And stars nod to you through the hole in the curtain,     (except the big stiff planets     too fat to move about much,)     and you curtsey back to the stars     when no one is looking.     You feel sorry for the poor wooden chair     that knows it isn't nice to sit on,     and no one is sad but mama.     You don't like mama to be sad     when you are four years old,     so you pretend     you like the bitter gold-pale tea -     you pretend     if you don't drink it up pretty quick     a little gold-fish     will think it is a pond     and come and get born in it.              :    :     It's hot in our street     and the breeze is a dirty little broom     that sweeps dust into our room     and bits of paper out of the alley.     You are not let to play     with the children in the alley     But you must be very polite -     so you pass them and say good day     and when they fling banana skins     you fling them back again.              :    :     There is no one to play with     and the flies on the window     buzz and buzz...     ...you can pull out their legs     and stick pins in their bodies     but still they buzz...     and mama says:     When Nero was a little boy     he caught flies on his mama's window     and pulled out their legs     and stuck pins in their bodies     and nobody loved him.     Buzz, blue-bellied flies -     buzz, nasty black wheel     of mama's machine -     you are the biggest fly of all -     you have the loudest buzz.     I hear you at dawn before the locusts.     But I like the picture of the Flood     and the little babies getting drowned....     If I were there I would save them,     but as I can't save them     I like to watch them     getting drowned.              :    :     When mama buys of Ling Ho,     he smiles very wide     and picks her the largest loquots.     The greens-man gave her a cabbage     and she held it against her black bodice     and said what a beautiful green it was     and put it on the table     as though it had been a flower.     But next day we boiled and ate it with salt.     It was our dinner.              :    :     Christmas day     I found Janie on my pillow.     Janie is made of rubber.     Her red and blue jacket won't come off.     Christmas dinner was green and white     chicken and lettuce and peas     and drops of oil on the salad     smiley and full of light     like the gold on the lady's teeth.     But mama said politely     Thank you, we are dining out.     She wouldn't let you take one pea     to put in the hole where the whistle was     at the back of Janie's head,     so Janie should have some dinner     So you went to the park with biscuits     and black tea in a bottle.              :    :     You feel very sad     when you climb on the fence     to watch mama out of sight.     The women in the alley     poke their heads out of doorways     and watch her too.     You know her     by the way she holds her shoulders     till she is only a speck     in a chain of specks -     till she is swallowed up.     But suppose     that day after day     you were to watch for her face     and it didn't come back?     Suppose     it were to drop out of the string of white faces     like the pearl out of my chain     I never found again?              :    :     Mabel minds you while mama is out,     she washes while she sings     Three blind mice!     they all run away from the farmer's wife     who cut off their tails     with a carving knife -     Wind blows out Mabel's sheets,     way you blow in a bag before you burst it.     Wind has a soapy smell.     It's heavier'n sun     that lies all over you without any weight     and makes you feel happy     and crinkly like bubbling water.     There's no sun on the empty house -     sly-looking house -     you can't see in its windows     that watch you out of their corners.     Perhaps there's a big spider there     spinning gray threads over the windows     till they look like dead people's faces....     Jimmie says:     Jimmie's hair is white as a white mouse.     His lashes are gold as mama's wedding ring     and his mouth feels cool and smooth     like a flower wet with rain.     You wouldn't believe Jimmie was different...              till he showed you....              :    :     Blind wet sheets     flapping on the lines...     sun in your eyes,     dark gold sun     full of little black spots,     you have to blink and blink...     round eyes of Jimmie....     Jimmie's blue jumper...     blue shadow of wall...     all the world holding still     as when a clock stops...     streets still... people still...     no streets... no people...     only sky and wall...     sun glaring bright as God     down at you and Jimmie...     shadow like a purple cloth     trailing off the wall...     Wild wet sheets     flapping in the wind...     big slippered feet flapping too...     big-balloon-face     rushing up the alley...     houses closing up again...     windows looking round...     ... Mabel pulls you in the gate and shakes you     and tells you not to tell your mama...     And you wonder     if God has spoiled Jimmie.     III     MAMA     Mama's face     is smooth and pale as tea-rose leaves.     That ivory oval of aunt Gem     you sucked the miniature off     had black black hair like mama.              :    :     Pit-it-ty-pat,     Mama walks so fast,     street lamps jig     without bending a leg...     lights in the windows     play twinkling tunes     on crimson and blue     bottles like bubbles     big as balloons...     Faster and faster...     and pink light spurts     over cakes doing polkas     in little white shirts,     with cake-princesses     in flounced white skirts.     Pit-pat -     mama walks slower...     slower and... slower...     Eyes... lamps... stars...     acres and acres of stars...     bells... and sleepily     flapping feet....     You're glad mama walks slow.     It's nice to be carried along     up high near the stars     that look at you with a grave, great look.              :    :     Every night     mama sings you to sleep.     When she sings, O for the light of thine eyes Dolores,     there's a castle on a cliff     and the sea roars like lions.     It leaps at the castle     and the cliff knocks it down     but always the sea     shakes its flattened head     and gets up again.     The castle has no roof     so the rain spins silvery webs in it,     and Dolores' face     floats dim and beautiful     the way flowers do when they are drowned.     Step by white step     she goes up the castle stairs,     but the stair goes up into the sky     and the sky keeps going up too,     and none of them ever get there.     When mama sings Ba ba black sheep,     the stars seem to shine through her voice     so everything has to be still,     and when she has finished singing     her song goes up off the earth,     higher and higher...     till it is only as big as a tiny silver bird     with nothing but moonlight around it.     IV     BETTY     You can see the sandhills from our new room.     Butterflies     live in the sandhills     and lizards     and centipedes.     If you keep very still     lizards will think you a stone     and run over your lap.     Butterflies' liveries     are scarlet and black.     They drive chariots in air.     People in the chariots     are pale as dew -     you can see right through them -     but the chariots     are made of gold of the sun.     They go up to heaven     and never catch fire.     There are green centipedes     and brown centipedes     and black centipedes,     because green and brown and black     are the colors in hell's flag.     Centipedes     have hundreds of feet     because it is so far from hell     to come up for air.     Centipedes     do not hurry.     They are waiting for the last day     when they will creep over the false prophets     who will have their hands tied.              :    :     Night calls to the sandhills     and gathers them under her.     she pushes away cities     because their sharp lights     hurt her soft breast.     Even candles make a sore place     when they stick in the night.     There are things in the sandhills     that no one knows about...     they come out at dark when the young snakes play     and tell each other secrets     in the deaf logs.     Sometimes... before rain...     when the stars have gone inside...     the night comes close to your window     and sniffs at the light....     But you must not run away -     you must keep your face to the night     and walk backward.              :    :     When it rains     and you are pulling off flies' legs...     mama lets you play houses     with Lizzie and Clara.     Because you are the Only One -     and because Only Ones have to live alone     while sisters stay together,     Lizzie and Clara     give you the dry house     and take the one with the leaking roof.     Rain like curly hairpins     blows on Lizzie and Clara's two heads     turned like one head -     two mouths     spread into one laugh.     Lizzie is saying:     why don't you want to play -     when you feel you'd like to braid     the crinkled-silver rain     into a shining rope     to climb up... and up... and up... into the wet sky     and never see any one again.     Our gate doesn't hang right.     It must have pawed at the wind     and gotten a kick     as the wind passed over.     The sitting sky     puffs out a gray smoke     and the wind makes a red-striped sound     blowing out straight,     but our gate drags its foot     and whines to itself on one hinge.              :    :     What do you think I've found -     two wee knickers of fairy brass,     or two gold sovereigns folded up     in a bit of green silk,     or two gold bugs     in little green shirts?     If you want to know,     you must walk tip-toe     so your feet just whisper in the grass -     you must carry them careful     and very proud,     for their stems bleed drops of milk -     but Lizzie and Clara shout in glee:     Pee-a-bed, pee-a-bed -     dandelions!     You look in the eyes of grown-up people     to see if they feel     the way you feel...     but they hide inside of themselves,     and so you do not find out.     Grown-up people say:     The stars are bright to-night,     but they do not say     what you are thinking about stars -     not even mama says what you are thinking about stars.     This makes you feel very lonely.              :    :     It's strange about stars....     You have to be still when they look at you.     They push your song inside of you with their song.     Their long silvery rays     sink into you and do not hurt.     It is good to feel them resting on you     like great white birds...     and their shining whiteness     doesn't burn like the sun -     it washes all over you     and makes you feel cleaner'n water.              :    :     My doll Janie has no waist     and her body is like a tub with feet on it.     Sometimes I beat her     but I always kiss her afterwards.     When I have kissed all the paint off her body     I shall tie a ribbon about it     so she shan't look shabby.     But it must be blue -     it mustn't be pink -     pink shows the dirt on her face     that won't wash off.              :    :     I beat Janie     and beat her...     but still she smiled...     so I scratched her between the eyes with a pin.     Now she doesn't love me anymore...     she scowls... and scowls...     though I've begged her to forgive me     and poured sugar in the hole at the back of her head.              :    :     Mama says Janie is a fairy doll     and she has forgiven me -     that she's gone to the market     to buy me some sweets.      - Now she's at the door     and a little bag tied to her neck -     I run to Janie     and kiss her all over....     Ah... she is still frowning.     I let the sweets drop on the floor -     mama     has told you a lie.              :    :     Chinaman     singing in street:     gleen ledd-ish-es, gleen ledd-ish-es -     hot sun     shining on your face -     it must be a new day.     But why aren't you happy     if it's a new day?     Because something has happened...     something sad and terrible....     Now I remember... it's Janie.     Yesterday     I took Janie out     and tied my handkerchief over her face     and put sand in it     and threw her into the ditch     down in the black water     under the dock leaves...     and when mama asked me where Janie was     I said I had lost her.              :    :     I'm glad it is night-time     so I'll be able to go to sleep     and forget all about it....     But mama looks at my tongue     and says she will give me senna tea.     When you smell the tea     you shut your eyes tight     and pretend not to hear     the soft, cool voice of mama     that goes over your forehead     like a little wind.     And then you lie in the dark     and stare... and stare...     till the faces come...     yellow faces with leering eyes     drifting in a greeny mist....     I wonder     if Janie sees faces     out there... alone in the dark....     I wonder     if she has got the handkerchief off     or if the water has gone in the hole     where the whistle was     at the back of her head     and drowned her...     or if the stars     can see her under the dock leaves?              :    :     It's smoky-blue and still     over the red road.     Wind must be lying down with its tail under it -     doesn't even flick off the flies.     And you can hear the silence     buzzing in the gum trees,     the way the angels buzzed     when they flew through the cedars of Lebanon     with thin gauze wings     you could see through.     Nice to hear the silence buzzing -     till it comes too close     and booms in your ears     and presses all over you     till you scream....     When you scream at the silence     it goes to jingling pieces     like a silver mirror     broken into tiny bits.     Perhaps its wings are made of glass -     perhaps it lives down in a dark, dark cave     and only comes up     to warm its wings in the sun....     It's cold in the cave -     no matter how you cover yourself up.     Little girls sit there     dressed in white     and the dolls in their arms     all have white handkerchiefs     over their faces.     Their shadows cannot play with them...     their shadows lie down at their feet...     for the little girls sit stiff as stones     with their backs to the mouth of the cave     where a little light falls off     the wings of the silence     when it comes down out of the sun.              :    :     Moon catches the flying fish     as they dive in the bay.     Flying fish     spin over and over     slippity-silver     into the water.     Mom bends over jungles     and touches the foreheads of tigers     as they pass under openings made by dropped leaves.     Tigers stop on the trail of the deer     while the moon is on their foreheads -     they let the stags go by.     Moon is shining strangely     on the white palings of the fence.     Fence keeps very still...     most times it moves a little...     everything moves a little     though you mayn't know it...     but now the little fence     wouldn't change places with the great cross     that stands so stiff and high     with its back to the moon.     Moon shining strangely     on the white palings of the fence,     I am shining too     but my light is shut inside of me     and can't get out.              :    :     Old house with black windows -     blind house begging moonlight     to put out the shadows -     why do you want so much light?     You creak when the wind steps on you -     you cough up dust     and your beams ache -     you know you will soon fall,     the moon just pities you!     Don't waste yourself moon -     come on my bed and play with me.     Wrap me up in blue light,     you who are cool.     I am too hot,     I am all alive     and the shadows are outside of me.              :    :     There are different kinds of shadows.     The blind ones     are the shadows of things.     These are the tame shadows -     they love to play on the wall with you     and follow you about like cats and dogs.     Sometimes     they hiss at you softly     like snakes that do not bite,     or swish like women's dresses,     but if you poke a candle at them     they pull in their heads and disappear.     But there is a shadow     that is not the shadow of a thing...     it is a thing itself.     When you meet this shadow     you must not look at it too long...     it grows with your looking at it...     till you are all alone     with nothing around you...     nothing... nothing... nothing...     but a shadow     with its eyes full of black light.              :    :     There's a shadow in the corner of the shed,     crouching, lying in wait...     a black coiled shadow,     watching... ready to strike...     but I mustn't be afraid of it -     I mustn't be afraid of anything.     Poor evil shadow,     the candle would chase it away     only she can't get at it.     Do you think that every one hates you,     shadow with your back to the wall,     afraid to lie down and sleep?     But I don't hate you.     Even the moon means to be kind.     She just treads on you     as I'd tread on a worm that I didn't see.     Don't be afraid of me, shadow.     See - I've no light in my hand -     nothing to save myself with -     yet I walk right up to you -     if you'll let me     I'll put my arms around you     and stroke you softly.     Are you surprised I'd put my arms around you?     Is it your black black sorrow     that nobody loves you?     V     JUDE     When you tell mama     you are going to do something great     she looks at you     as though you were a window     she were trying to see through,     and says she hopes you will be good     instead of great.              :    :     When you are five years old     you spend the day in the Gardens.     The grass is greener than cabbages,     and orange lilies     stand up very straight     and will not curtsey to the sun     when the wind tells them.     Only pansies bow down very low.     Pansies make little purple cushions     for queen bees to stand on.     Bees     have brown silk hair on their bodies.     If you are careful     they will let you stroke them.     The trees over the marble man     catch up all the sunbeams     so the shadows have it their way -     the shadows swallow him up     like a blue shark.     When you scoop a sunbeam up on your palm     and offer it to the marble man,     he does not notice...     he looks into his stone beard.     ... When you do something great     people give you a stone face,     so you do not care any more     when the sun throws gold on you     through leaf-holes the wind makes     in green bushes....     This thought makes me very sad.              :    :     Jude has eyes like tobacco     with yellow specks on it     and his hair is red as a red orange.     Jude and I     have made a garden in the field     that no one knows about.     We creep in and out     through a little place     where the barbed wire is down.     We lie in the long grass     and crush dandelions     between our two cheeks     till the milk comes out on our faces.     We hold each other tight     and the wind tip-toes all over us     and pelts us with thistle-down.              :    :     Jude isn't afraid of shadows -     not even of the ones that have eyes in them.     And he can look in the face of the sun     without blinking at all.     Hush! don't say sun so loud.     The sun gets angry when you stare at him.     If you peek in his glory-windows     he spreads into a great white flame     like God out of his Burning Bush...     till you put your hands up on your face     and tremble like a drop of rain upon a flower     that some one throws into the fire...     and then     the sun makes himself small,     the sun swings down out of the sky -     littler'n a star,     little as a spark     little as a fierce red spider     on a burning thread...     and then     the light goes out...     shivers into blackened bits....     You hold on to a wall that whirls around     and the gate is a black hole.     You grope your way in like a toad     that's blinded by a stone...     and mama puts on cold wet rags     that get hot soon....     Hush! don't let's talk about the sun.              :    :     When you pass by the ditch where Janie is     You run very fast     and look at the other side.     Jude says Janie did love me     only she couldn't forgive me,     and that you can love people very much     and never, never, never forgive them....     so we poked a stick in the bottle-green water.     But only weeds came up     and an old top with the paint washed off.              :    :     Jude and I     wave to the new moon     curled right up like one gold hair     on the bald-head sandhill.     Mama peeps out the window and smiles.     She thinks     I am playing with myself...     Run, Jude, run with the wind -     but hold my hand tight     or the wind,     looking for some one to play with,     will take me away from you!     Wind with no one to play with     cooees the orange-trees -     stay-at-home orange trees,     have to nurse oranges,     greeny-gold.     Wind shouts to the grass -     run-away-grass     tugs at its roots,     but the earth holds tight     and the grass falls down     and wind boos over it.     Wind whistles the bees -     bees too busy     with taking home stuff out of flowers     won't look back -     bees always going somewhere.     Only Jude and I -     heads over shoulders     watching all roads at one time -     run with the wind,     going to nowhere.              :    :     Jude and I     were weeding our garden     when we heard his whip -     must have been a new whip     to cut off dandelion-heads at one swing....     He was the kind of boy you knew when you had Celia....     with nice clothes on and curls     crawling about his collar     like little golden slugs,     and his man was leading his horse.     I wish I hadn't run to meet him....     If you hadn't run to meet him     he mightn't have trod on your garden and said:     Get out of my field you dirty little beggar...     he mightn't have struck you with his whip....     How the daisies stared....     I hate daisies -     stupid white faces -     skinny necks     craning over the grass!     I said It is not your field,     and he struck me again.     But he didn't make me run.     His hand     smelled of sweet soap...     he couldn't shake me off,     but his man did....     Funny - how the sky fell down     and turned over and over     like a blue carpet rolling you up,     and the grass caught at your face -     it couldn't have been spiteful -     it must have been saving itself.     Hot road... silly wind playing with your hair....     The road smelled of horses.     I only got up     when I heard a dray.              :    :     Mama has sung ba ba black sheep,     and put a chair with a cloth on it     between me and the light.     But the clock keeps saying:     Dirty little beggar,     dirty little beggar....     Some day     I will get that boy.     I will pull off his arms and legs     and put him in a box     and hide the box     under the bed....     I wonder     will he buzz     when I take him out to look at his body     that will have no arms to whip me?     Mama drew my cot to the window     so I can look at the stars.     I will not look at the stars.     There is a black chimney     throwing up sparks     and one tall flame     like gold hair in a blaze....     I know now     what I shall do....     I will set fire to him     and he will burn up into a tall flame -     he will scream into the sky     and sparks will fly out of him -     he will burn and burn...     and his blazing hair     shall light up the world.              :    :     Before he hit me -     I knew he was going to -     I thought about Jude....     I thought if he'd fight...     but he shriveled all up...     he lay down like a fear.     Mama never knew about Jude.     You always wanted to tell her,     but somehow you never did.     You were afraid she'd smile     and say he wasn't real -     that he was only a little dream-boy,     because the grass didn't fall down under his feet....     He is fading now....     He is just lines... like a drawing....     You can see mama in between.     When she moves     she rubs some of him out.