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?

Don’t remember.

Was mouth good or pretty
Bad? Was it

Don’t remember.

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.