Bailey Caitlin - Solve for desire: poems

2017, Text by Caitlin Bailey All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical articles or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher: Milkweed Editions, 1011 Washington Avenue South, Suite 300, Minneapolis, Minnesota 55415. (800) 520-6455 milkweed.org Published 2017 by Milkweed Editions Printed in the United States of America Cover design by Mary Austin Speaker Cover illustration by Andrea Amadio, from the Codice Roccobonella, ca. 1445 Author photo by Lucas Botz 17 18 19 20 21 5 4 3 2 1 First Edition Milkweed Editions, an independent nonprofit publisher, gratefully acknowledges sustaining support from the Jerome Foundation; the Lindquist & Vennum Foundation; the McKnight Foundation; the National Endowment for the Arts; the Target Foundation; and other generous contributions from foundations, corporations, and individuals. Also, this activity is made possible by the voters of Minnesota through a Minnesota State Arts Board Operating Support grant, thanks to a legislative appropriation from the arts and cultural heritage fund, and a grant from Wells Fargo. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Bailey, Caitlin, author. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Bailey, Caitlin, author.

Title: Solve for desire : poems / Caitlin Bailey. Description: First edition. | Minneapolis, Minnesota : Milkweed Editions, [2017] | Identifiers: LCCN 2017028617 (print) | LCCN 2017032354 (ebook) | ISBN 9781571319753 (ebook) | ISBN 9781571314994 (softcover : acid-free paper) Classification: LCC PS3602.A533 (ebook) | LCC PS3602.A533 A6 2017 (print) | DDC 811/.6--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017028617 Milkweed Editions is committed to ecological stewardship. We strive to align our book production practices with this principle, and to reduce the impact of our operations in the environment. We are a member of the Green Press Initiative, a nonprofit coalition of publishers, manufacturers, and authors working to protect the worlds endangered forests and conserve natural resources. Solve for Desire was printed on acid-free 100% postconsumer-waste paper by Thomson-Shore.

For Grete Table of Contents

Finding you everywhere nowhere I travel in this spaciousness are you absent. DEBORAH KEENAN Georg Trakl was an Austrian poet born in 1887. He was addicted to drugs for much of his life and had an extremely close relationship with his younger sister, Grete, the extent of which nobody knows. Grete was a gifted pianist and also addicted to drugs. Georg trained as a pharmacist in Vienna and began to publish his poetry. Grete, meanwhile, lived in Vienna and Berlin, studying piano.

Georg eventually enlisted in the army and completed several tours before serving as a pharmacist and medic during World War I. After a horrific incident in Grdek (in modern-day Ukraine) in 1914, wherein he attempted suicide, Georg was hospitalized in Poland and ultimately died following what might have been a purposeful cocaine overdose perhaps because of the atrocities of war he witnessed. He left all of his money and belongings to Grete. Grete committed suicide at a party less than three years later. I. W HOEVER D RINKS FROM M E Come, let us go away together into the wide world. THE BROTHERS GRIMM Be not tiger nor wolf to rend me, but brother as deer.

Brother as thirst. Quarrel of forest, windfall of firs. Water meant to wound we repurpose. Too dangerous to keep you in the world. Take to the woods, deer brother. Dear brother.

Here I adorn you. Adore you. Here is our sorrow tree. Here is our hollow. Here only the sweetest grass. O, your crown of rushes.

Finally our good hour. Our gold all-encompassing. I will never, never leave you. Deer brother. Dear brother. L OST L ETTER This is the first time Ive written to you, and I know now why they called me little witch.

My hands have done terrible things. I remember the first time, your hand cupped over the glass and over mine, O charging desire the welcome rush of the wild heart, poppies blooming under my skin, a perfect red burst. And now hes in the other room, and I cant be long remembering you. You wore your anger like a bare coat until I plucked myself from your pocket. I knew nothing of loss. P IGEONS Once we walked into a field and watched pigeons black out the sky, thousands of wings whirring, and it was a wonder they stayed aloft.

The most brilliant part of you exists to haunt me: a bomb in the womb or men in the rafters. Sometimes I cant believe my heart, how it continues. How it isnt black and withered, how the chambers remain clear, the beat plain and perfect. C HURCH , H IPBONE Ready tender mass. Glossy rope, we bare our teeth. Equal the church, the hipbone, the sliced ocean.

That old yank in the throat, bedded for days. Perpetual tangle. Something bent, fashioned in fits, memory of your arm filling a sleeve. A blue whales heart is the size of a small car and I am finding it hard to imagine anyone who would not be moved to think of that vehicle. I want to drive fast into your mouth, leave nothing on the table. Ridge inside of me, hurt spot continually worried, thumb brushed against collarbone until it begins to crumble.

Which parts belong to me? Just the blossoming, or the tongued flat skin? Relief when you appear. If I were fastened to any question: hands laced together. T HIS I S THE H OUSE Desire fogs through the halls. We build the house with cedar strappings. The salt disaster of our skin whirls through doorways. The rooms are smug, spotted.

We find chips of paint in the sheets, rub our backs raw. Grease the floor with salve, slip from room to room. Worry the edges of our gowns and wear them tattered. Smartly, I kiss the soles of your feet. We bury our luck in the firmest piece of land. P OEM ABOUT D ESIRE spun sugar and roasted chestnuts glass and stones something about refracted light, my split allegiance Prater, Riesenrad that ring against the sky T HE H EART I S TO A P LEASANT T HING Compare the heart to any pleasant thing.

Compare an apple to a snake. Failed experiments we are bound to apply endlessly. Or ignore entirely. In any case, we are rarely seated simply. Here is the tool I currently find useful. Snakes middle, or some callous bulge in the peel.

I intended to love only what was given. Its difficult to find the wound. To walk into a field and obscure anything. To leave each flower picked clean. Historically, the last petal becomes your fortune. He loves me not.

Everything is made equal by darkness. Lets see how the trees can rebound. Lets see how I can make you mine. D ETONATE There were always things to tell you. The way it would be if we buttoned any particular button. How I would spend the year holding back a sneeze.

How the orange puckered in the drawer, a shriveled bomb. We wanted everything: bodies gabled or bent over with joy. It was easy to forget the wires geometried through the house. The dark powder along the baseboards. I looked ahead and saw only you: bright suture in a lined palm.