Saturday, March 27, 2010

Weekly Worded

















Beware the Ides of Idleness

In the middle of the day
reading a book
the spell begins.
Sunlight through a window
warms me.
The sentence I am reading
unravels and slips
to the bottom
of the page,
then drops
knotted
into
my
lap
and tangles
around my ankles
tugging me even deeper.
Cushion and recliner tip, footrest
extends, and then I levitate like a magician’s
assistant. I’m never sure how it’s done, but for a short time
the earth vanishes.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Weekly Worded






















Paranoia


There’s two of us inside me,
one that does the talking,

one that worries
we’re being talked about,

whispers and insists
on a closed mouth policy

so secrets don’t get out.
The first one asks

what you’re up to,
the second suspects it’s bigger

than nothing much.
And it gets more complicated.

The first one opens curtains,
the second installs blinds,

the first one reads the mail,
the second shreds it.

Both leave the toilet seat up
but one does it on purpose.

We won’t say which,
since accusations find

their way like grit into grease.
One slips right off to sleep,

the other lies awake
inventing new pins and passwords

in case the two should separate.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Weekly Worded

















A Drift on the Inland Sea

The white sea recedes
as the winter softens.
A week with our heads
above freezing, the brain

drifts toward thoughts
of spring, of soil crumbling,
dry steps down from the porch,
songs from a few lost birds

returning. Even the moon
appears warmer, the tide
and flow of snow
wicked away by the trees

like candles sputtering to stay lit.
White sea of old waves
thinned as the season ebbs,
detritus of leaves in the sodden grass.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

Weekly Worded

















Bookshelf Opera

Just listen.
There are rhythms
to be told, passages
to be read aloud.
Otherworldly as it appears,
even from the balcony
you may not need glasses.

Turn your attention
to what moves forward,
careful not to crease the spine,
using hands as if lifting a newborn,
cradling that weight like two lungs
as they inhale the air,
opening to every page.

The voices are many and varied
though you really have to listen,
sit quietly in a chair,
allow each word to achieve its tenor,
each sentence to sustain
its own breadth, each story
a fat woman singing.