by Constance Hansen
A wife must regard her husband with indifference, and with no other feeling than that of reverence,
for “love” we regard as a false sentiment: a feeling which should have no existence in polygamy.
Zina D. H. Young
My ancestress Zina thrice married
twice for Time once for Eternity
Zina of Black River battle drums
Watertown Fort Drum
Zina of creaky latches garden paths
cradling the cello & secret proposals
Zina young giggling into prayer-shaped hands
gathering eggs speckled & warm
Zina of cheekbones cholera & motherloss
spindle & tithe the small circumference of your sash
Zina blushing & beaded with brow sweat & work
the snow gemmy at cockcrow
boot tracks
New York, Ohio, Missouri, Illinois
long days
civilizing wool & the temperaments
scratched hands & the mournful fasting
gathering skirts blood-hemmed
blood-hallowed
Zina seven months pregnant
with Zebulon by Henry
when sealed for Eternity to one Joseph
Smith
Zina, great-great-great grandmother
of mine
I called on you
on hour four of pushing
in consideration of your exiled labor
on the banks of River Chariton
and you delivered
Zina, you named my ancestor
after that river and Henry the probable father
your husband & lover
before your prophet sent
the saint-blessed
cuckold on distant
mission to get you alone
like a predator would
Zina of the temple choir & red brick store
of the Nauvoo SNAFU
your jailed fisher king
shot dead by a hollering mob
Zina, Brigham-seized
like property
betrothed a Young
before Spring could green Joe’s grave
Zina, you must of have been beautiful—no, why
assume beauty has anything to do with desirability
or that desirability of the one over whom
power is taken has anything to do with why
Zina, bearer—
Zina, what you bore—
Flight
Drought
Hunger
Theophany
Zina, seer
of the sweetest deseret honey to be
of seagull miracles
Zina, soldier
of fervor of fever of vision
bent over planting crops for next season’s pilgrims
to eat and not perish on their way to this is the place
Zina, buttoner of little shoes
Zina of frozen mud with its wagon ruts on
of westward climbing winter pass crossing
Zina of clover
of robed ritual
of midwifery on the high alpine snow
Zina, my blood from the low
brackish lake
salt crisp powdery
salt piquant cragged
heirloom scent of charred lamb fogging the canyon
heirloom militiamen & marauders
heirloom sins of settlers, such blood, theft of land
held in common, children held in common,
but only you held a common of husbands, Zina
my skin of silkworm Zion, of burning wax,
of wax burns Zion, its feminization—Zina
O threader of grease drippings
my lady of sagebrush and maypoles,
lady serviceberry, they called you Sister Young—
Sister Young’s linens splattered
by her husband’s younger wives’ labors—
desert stars lassoed by your doorframe number less
than your faithless descendants
Zina
Lady’s Relief Society President of summer thunder, the raw sensual
smell of tomatoes lifting off the garden clear to the peach
slices drying on the roof the darkening charge before the rain, Zina
the animal the mineral jolt of ions after the laws of desire
young men dolled up in high heeled boots & handkerchiefs
brushing against the infinite softness of breasts
swinging their partners across the percussive floor
young women finding new nerve endings wherever they are touched
Zina
Sister Young
did you watch them
bemusedly or with a mournful pity
the kids who think
it always feels like that like heat like want
Zina from Catskills to cattails
rustling against the fallen
temple wall of the buzzing hive
Queen Bee thrice married
twice for Time one time for Eternity
Zina the cord I’m candled around
::
Constance Hansen’s poetry and reviews have recently appeared or are forthcoming in Harvard Review, Four Way Review, Vallum, Southern Humanities Review, Northwest Review, River Mouth Review, Volume Poetry, EcoTheo Review, Moist Poetry Journal, and elsewhere. She is the Assistant Managing Editor of Poetry Northwest. Constance lives with her family in Seattle, where she teaches poetry at the Hugo House.
Image: Danny Burke
Psaltery & Lyre 