434
PARTISAN REVIEW
THE METAMORPHOSES
Where I spat in the harbor the oranges were bobbing
All salted and sodden, with eyes in their rinds;
The sky was all black where the coffee was burning,
And the rust of the freighters had reddened the tide.
But soon all the chimneys were hidden with contracts,
The tankers rode low in the oil-black bay,
The wharves were a maze of the crated bombers,
And they gave me a job and I worked all day.
And the orders are filled; but I float in the harbor,
All tarry and swollen, with gills in my sides,
The sky is all black where the carrier's burning,
And the blood of the transports is red on the tide.
MOTHER, SAID THE CHILD
Mother)
said the child,
the boughs all talk
All night) they say that all of us-
No, no, she answered; who has heard them speak?
They stand there silently . . . Or perhaps walk
Up through the grasses)
said the child,
and stare
At me there sleeping )· and the leaves all stir-
The wind, she answered; when have the leaves waked?
Sleep on, my life . . . Tonight your murderers
Have found me)
said the child;
one calls) Come back!
But I wake here in moonlight) pale
~nd
old-
No, no, she answered; how could that be so?
You lie home sleeping . . . And your cheeks are: black
With blood)
said the child; he flung back his white head
And cried,
Come warm me with your crazy limbs–
And the mother laughed, and opened her cold arms
And pressed to his dead mouth the blood of the dead.
RANDALL J ARRELL
