POET'S
ANATOMY
But for all his brave arguments, he had only the mistiest ideas
(I realized much later). In the darkness of the living room, stand–
ing and gyrating and almost hopping forward across the rug, we
performed together a weird and ritualistic dance, based on his
strenuous imagination and the observation of dogs. This way and that
he turned me, making certain piston-like motions of his own, which
frightened me and left him confused, but pleased at his daring. Finally
he tied my shoelace for me and picked up
his
hat and we went out to
play Follow the Leader again with his friends.
That evening, while Mother changed the Band-Aid, he stayed in
the room listening to see
if
I would say a word about what had
happened, and we were both flushed the whole time. Still frightened,
I said nothing. Mter dinner, at Daddy's suggestion, Sandy delivered a
fervent oration on the topic, "Firecrackers in the Hands of Children."
Gradually from that day on I began to hate Mommy and Daddy
for making no attempt to interfere with us or stop us. I never allowed
myself to realize that it was I who prevented them with my utter
silence- How could they expect
me
to tell them? I thought. The only
attempt I did make to tell occurred the next morning: I set fire to
the house-and more, I tried words too, the very best words I knew-
I want to tell you right away
About a big red fire,
That
if
you want the house t'o stay
You've got to
but nobody understood. So I abandoned poetry, and didn't try again
unt}l my teens.
And so, from that rude beginning in the living room grew a
strange and unexpected vine: a slow, childish, and extremely delicate
courtship. Sandy, sensing my resistance, became hesitant in his at–
tempts, almost meditative, as though considering my age and our
relationship. ( "Wouldn't
it
be easy for me, Millie," he said, "to abuse
the trust of my little sister? We have to keep this on the highest
plane.") Though I found his new interest in me repulsive, his words
distracted me. Did they not ring out with the authority I associated
with Daddy at the dinner table? The serpentine logic, the fluent
nonsense, confused me. Once when I protested
his
unbuttoning the
