'To a Lady

Ripped belly uppermost,
A vision of a work-horse
    kicking the air
Loiters on the stone steps of the water trough
At the deserted barracks of the transport corps.

You live hidden,
    deep in the dilapidated alley;
Since that summer, for a year
You only visit the hospital in the rain
Hiding beneath an umbrella.
A mass of searing scars
Swooped on your face
From the shadow of B29s
Shining, and now stuck fast
Over your eyes and nose.
You can never face others again,
You say.

In your ruined house you weave
Your life in a skein of blood
With your remaining hand.
What marks of blood will be left
On your palm?
A windmill turns gently.
Children play together in the garden
Of this quiet town.

I turned back repeatedly, but
Today I must visit you
Along this burnt-out road.

In the faint evening glow,
Lumpty skin coarse as reptiles
    glistening
And not so much as a hair growing.
You whisper names once dear to my lips.
I will talk to you
Whose scarred maiden-heart
Congealed under its thick scab but
The wound aches incessantly
And reeking pus oozes.

I will talk to you
Of the fiery power of a desperate wish
Seeping out from under the scab
To brand itself on all men's hearts;
And of the thousands like you
Who struggle to wipe out
    the darkness of the world.

Beneath the roar of new war-planes,
I will talk to you
Of the day when my anger
And your curses
Will become the most beautiful expressions.'

----Toge Sankichi

Listening to: Strange Little Girls.

Molly Ivins thinks Dean can win.