My cat is putting on his winter coat.
The heat is hissing like we thought
we'd never need again, and I'm sad
to watch it turn so early black. Yesterday
I talked my family out of a kidnapping;
keep me, I said, in the native tongue,
and my spine was straight, willing to be broken.
I keep packing my suitcase, wanting
to know the time, checking again,
every window shows a different face.
Now I'm fiending on the roof, explaining
electricity to her in my head. Old homes,
school stairways, the bath at the top of the landing;
all the sugar cubes my night horse feeds,
invisible as it gallops, like a girl down the hallway.
The kaleidoscope turns, stained glass shards
ground to sand, weathered like a bottle thrown to sea.
The message doesn't matter anymore.
Thurs. Feb 17, 2011
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