Onomatopoeia

Crack. That was the bones

Underneath the bush with leaves

Tear-shaped and glossy.



Hiss. That was the bush

Making conversation with the woman

Performing the sacrifice.



Pop. That was the sound

When the head was corked

From a bottle of young wine.


Clang. That was rusted files

Made into wind chimes

Hanging in the bowing branches.


Whoosh. That was not the wind,

The wind went still for a time,

It was silent. That was the woman.


Shh. That was the woman raking

The earth giving it enough voice

To tell us to be quiet.



Reh-ruh-reh-ruh-reh-ruh-reh-ruh. That was the car

That had us rear our heads

Thinking that was him.



Ay-ye-ak. That was the board

The woman propped herself against

To see that no one was parked outside.



Ommm. That was the sound of cars outside;

When we returned to our offering,

They became a holy run-on humming.



Bada-tra-bada-tra-bada-tra. That was the boards

Leading out of the yard played like a piano by a virtuoso

Death-intoxicated dog, the paws themselves merry



Tring-ring. That was just a bell, another signal

For the holy, telling others at the stop sign

Across the street to use caution and share the road.



Ack ack. That was a living bird, mockingbird

Stopping in his fast flight through the yard

For nothing, neither prayer nor feast.



Um Eh Pa. That was what became of conversations

In the distance, probably talking

About some troubles or some joys.



Mmmeh. That was two dogs now, in a sensual dance

Slow and easy and careful with each other,

Rubbing and nibbling, smelling and tasting each other.



Ey-yah. That was the two of them going

From slow and sensual to bursting away

Toward the house for the maze of the house.



Cooyah, shh-up. That was the roommates

From downstairs leaving, not taking notice

Of what was happening in the corner of the yard.


Aweh. That was the wind again holy moaning

As the two gone roommates were surely worried

About where they would stay next.



Huh. That was the painter in the house

Asking a question while leaving, also not noticing,

Not seeing the death in the yard, busy with something.



Yay-ehyuh. That was the woman, she took a breath

Before laying hands on the bird again,

Before touching, then pressing like dough for bread.



Splish. Such a stupid sound the body made

When the blood was squeezed from it

Into a vial, such nonsense for a sound, that was.



(Insane laughter). That was the woman giving death

That was the yard and its death,

That was the great dionysiac sound of stampeding death.