Long Winter Euphony

The hamster’s not dead.
It’s hibernating.
The mouse that leaps off a dumptruck
stopped at a traffic light
and scurries past your boot
to burrow its way into a snow bank
may be wishing
it could hibernate too.

You no longer question
if your hands look old. You know.

Instructions read:
cut open the wall
in the same spot on each floor
till you reach
the open cellar door.
You know what to do.

You are asked to gin up
some fabulous story
about why wool, why mittens.
Why not skull caps?
Why a folding chair?
Why not a cedar wood
glider bench?
Why now, not any other time?

The pipe
for smoking, the bottle
for drinking. How can anything
be done casually, you ask?
You are one of those
who cannot play
with fire again,
not even once in a while.

Instructions read:
Chant STEAM, not STEM.
Steam the stems
to get a better consistency.
You pour a sculpture
of a blue rooster into a test tube,
fire up the Bunsen burner,
wait for a sustained note.

You miss Isamu Noguchi’s theater
set piece for Martha Graham’s
“Judith,” languishing
in a storage vault
less than a mile
from where you sleep.

The aroma of nothing fills the air.
What a relief this time.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s