1. 

When I was small

and you were still daddy

there was a knife in

the drawer.

Though you never pulled

it out

I was afraid of mother--

she knew it was

there too

and I think she did

pull it out

once or twice

that knife

that cut me down the middle

and made me blue

made me bleed at the

thought of you

oh daddy

when the stories worried

round the golden rod

night

until morning trees hid

underneath my window

I thought of you

and what you might do

if I knew

who I was. 

2. Shadow

Memory is faulty

so maybe I never really had

a warm den

where I could hide

maybe it was a cold room

with corners so clean

you could rub a nickle on

them

and see your shadow.

I hid mine (my shadow, my shadow)

underneath the bottom of a dresser drawer

where the T-Shirts were.

They were clean and bright

over the tarnished

dirty

ugly remains

of my shadow

my other self

that little one

who sensed

the Big One

that was to come.