Night calls to the sandhills and gathers them under her. she pushes away cities because their sharp lights hurt her soft breast. Even candles make a sore place when they stick in the night.

There are things in the sandhills that no one knows about… they come out at dark when the young snakes play and tell each other secrets in the deaf logs.

Sometimes… before rain… when the stars have gone inside… the night comes close to your window and sniffs at the light…. But you must not run away— you must keep your face to the night and walk backward.

: :

When it rains and you are pulling off flies' legs… mama lets you play houses with Lizzie and Clara. Because you are the Only One— and because Only Ones have to live alone while sisters stay together, Lizzie and Clara give you the dry house and take the one with the leaking roof.

  Rain like curly hairpins
  blows on Lizzie and Clara's two heads
  turned like one head—
  two mouths
  spread into one laugh.
  Lizzie is saying:
  why don't you want to play—
  when you feel you'd like to braid
  the crinkled-silver rain
  into a shining rope
  to climb up… and up… and up… into the wet sky
  and never see any one again.

Our gate doesn't hang right. It must have pawed at the wind and gotten a kick as the wind passed over. The sitting sky puffs out a gray smoke and the wind makes a red-striped sound blowing out straight, but our gate drags its foot and whines to itself on one hinge.

: :

  What do you think I've found—
  two wee knickers of fairy brass,
  or two gold sovereigns folded up
  in a bit of green silk,
  or two gold bugs
  in little green shirts?
  If you want to know,
  you must walk tip-toe
  so your feet just whisper in the grass—
  you must carry them careful
  and very proud,
  for their stems bleed drops of milk—
  but Lizzie and Clara shout in glee:
  Pee-a-bed, pee-a-bed—
  dandelions!
  You look in the eyes of grown-up people
  to see if they feel
  the way you feel…
  but they hide inside of themselves,
  and so you do not find out.
  Grown-up people say:
  The stars are bright to-night,
  but they do not say
  what you are thinking about stars—
  not even mama says what you are thinking about stars.
  This makes you feel very lonely.

: :

It's strange about stars…. You have to be still when they look at you. They push your song inside of you with their song. Their long silvery rays sink into you and do not hurt. It is good to feel them resting on you like great white birds… and their shining whiteness doesn't burn like the sun— it washes all over you and makes you feel cleaner'n water.

: :

My doll Janie has no waist and her body is like a tub with feet on it. Sometimes I beat her but I always kiss her afterwards. When I have kissed all the paint off her body I shall tie a ribbon about it so she shan't look shabby. But it must be blue— it mustn't be pink— pink shows the dirt on her face that won't wash off.

: :

  I beat Janie
  and beat her…
  but still she smiled…
  so I scratched her between the eyes with a pin.
  Now she doesn't love me anymore…
  she scowls… and scowls…
  though I've begged her to forgive me
  and poured sugar in the hole at the back of her head.

: :

  Mama says Janie is a fairy doll
  and she has forgiven me—
  that she's gone to the market
  to buy me some sweets.
  —Now she's at the door
  and a little bag tied to her neck—
  I run to Janie
  and kiss her all over….
  Ah… she is still frowning.
  I let the sweets drop on the floor—
  mama
  has told you a lie.

: :

  Chinaman
  singing in street:
  gleen ledd-ish-es, gleen ledd-ish-es—
  hot sun
  shining on your face—
  it must be a new day.
  But why aren't you happy
  if it's a new day?
  Because something has happened…
  something sad and terrible….
  Now I remember… it's Janie.
  Yesterday
  I took Janie out
  and tied my handkerchief over her face
  and put sand in it
  and threw her into the ditch
  down in the black water
  under the dock leaves…
  and when mama asked me where Janie was
  I said I had lost her.

: :

  I'm glad it is night-time
  so I'll be able to go to sleep
  and forget all about it….
  But mama looks at my tongue
  and says she will give me senna tea.
  When you smell the tea
  you shut your eyes tight
  and pretend not to hear
  the soft, cool voice of mama
  that goes over your forehead
  like a little wind.
  And then you lie in the dark
  and stare… and stare…
  till the faces come…
  yellow faces with leering eyes
  drifting in a greeny mist….
  I wonder
  if Janie sees faces
  out there… alone in the dark….
  I wonder
  if she has got the handkerchief off
  or if the water has gone in the hole
  where the whistle was
  at the back of her head
  and drowned her…
  or if the stars
  can see her under the dock leaves?

: :

It's smoky-blue and still over the red road. Wind must be lying down with its tail under it— doesn't even flick off the flies. And you can hear the silence buzzing in the gum trees, the way the angels buzzed when they flew through the cedars of Lebanon with thin gauze wings you could see through. Nice to hear the silence buzzing— till it comes too close and booms in your ears and presses all over you till you scream…. When you scream at the silence it goes to jingling pieces like a silver mirror broken into tiny bits. Perhaps its wings are made of glass— perhaps it lives down in a dark, dark cave and only comes up to warm its wings in the sun…. It's cold in the cave— no matter how you cover yourself up. Little girls sit there dressed in white and the dolls in their arms all have white handkerchiefs over their faces. Their shadows cannot play with them… their shadows lie down at their feet… for the little girls sit stiff as stones with their backs to the mouth of the cave where a little light falls off the wings of the silence when it comes down out of the sun.

: :

  Moon catches the flying fish
  as they dive in the bay.
  Flying fish
  spin over and over
  slippity-silver
  into the water.
  Mom bends over jungles
  and touches the foreheads of tigers