back.........still in a tryptophan fog
just kidding! i am always like this.
I hope everyone had a great Giving of Thanks. I am thankful for you and everything you contribute to my life. I forgot to send this last night because my new thing (read: something I’ve done three times) is going to bed at 10:30pm, so good morning
"Sick in Bed" by Katie Peterson
Sick in bed with a sore throat,
I can’t get out of my mind
the image of the cat
harpsichord from the eighteenth century,
soothing a prince with laughter.
It worked like this: the tails of them attached
to the strings of the instrument
were pulled by different notes, and the difference
between the way the cats
cried was music.
A shadow is only a shape.
Which is why certain individuals
can put their hands in light
and make them birds, can say in shadow
what they can’t in light.
The tiny branches of the hedge
in the yard that separates
my house from the next
look like the rib bones of a bird
when the sun hits lunch.
The world, they say, is best for a nest
but no good for a flying place.
Come back, I say to my dead,
and the branches don’t even graze
the window, when I eat it hurts.
Through the window, the parallel woman sweeps up the staircase, holding the small hand of a child. They've just decorated the tree, put the garland all around and the angel on the top, and there's sheet music unfolded at the piano by the window. Down on the street, I see her seeing me - her eyes follow me in the box I reside. Above me a man paces and one murmurs to another and sighs. I can't help but see them each burrowed in tiny homes like baby clams on the beach. I count human expressions smeared on the face of the moon. And when I pray, I say please, make my mind smooth, like the glass at the bottom of the sea smooth. Across the street the little girl kneels in her room and her mother prays her life is soft and lazy like long legs of afternoon. I sweep the ash while two spiders meet in her vacuum. My night turns blue and for as long as it lasts we're listening to the world move like the crash of a wave, in each of our identical mind caves, watching life and praying the photo takes right. Praying the memory saves nice. What if this is the demon she couldn't ever shake quite? She hears me playing music through the night until I wake, and if she wishes she were me, I wish I could be fake too, wish that none of life could ever be an undoable mistake, and second chances were weighty and the bad things are never really true.
faves this week
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