Helena Kaminski’s poem “Face” appeared in our Spring 1991 issue.
Eye is late. Got stopped in the a.m. Got roughed up. Had its camera smashed. Rumored shot. Rumored released.
Ear taped downtown, today. But it’s due back. Just press “jungle” rewind and play.
Lip lies back on its unmade bed. Don’t shrug at me. Where are they?
Eye took much shit. Often, reporting back, Got cut off before getting to the Crux of what it saw.
Ear talented. Talented. Maybe bionic. Dogs lined up for lessons. The day eye played it its video Of mouth yapping about “Life” As a School for the Deaf, ear burst, and underwent A slow, shocked healing.
Neighbours say Things went on That can’t go on Within a skull.
Why the waste God why?
Mouth won Because eye watched Ear watch mouth Bulldoze them both. A writer wrote, “This is where war turned civil.”
Did the bush, grey with road dust Kneel in near-defeat? Did the sky mutter Its crisis?
Was mouth good or pretty Bad? Was it
Mouth, like Fidel Spoke for five hours.
It’s late. It’s very late.
Damn it. Who’s in charge?
Lip lies back Along the face, Dazed body at the beach On its pale towel.
Why aren’t they Where could
Ask mouth. Mouth is boss.
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