* * *
The reading is at 7pm at WORK Gallery, 306 S. State Street.
There will be collaborative readings by WCWPCCS members and contributors, audience participation, and homemade casseroles!
While snow melts,
New snow still falls
Arthur Russell sounds sad
Some days, the snow
Grows. Some days, the snow.
Tracks appear in our
Yard. Ruts worn through the field of
White. It thaws each day.
Brown gross patches
Puncture the snow blanket.
Walking to the post office
I look up from my heavy package
To see the cresent moon
My left hand can
Grab it. It’s waxing.
Tomorrow I will
Be able to see at night without
A lamp. But a jacket
Keeps the wind off my neck
And yours, my golden heart.
Custard, jam or puree
Fill them all. Sweet
And bloated on Fat Tuesday.
Eating stale paczki
In bed on Ash Wednesday
It never seems like we need to get up.
It’s cool—
we never even sweat.
We sit in chairs
We don’t stick to
In summer, popsicles melt
And our hands are as sticky
As the heavy full moon
We stay out late because
It’s always warm out
And in the middle
Of the day it’s just too hot
To move at all
A lone man at a red wooden table
The tea in the cup grows a skin
The milk in his tea
As white as a blanket
Of cherry blossoms
Covering the sidewalk
They crush underfoot
Releasing sweet fresh
So long sweet jellyfish
Keep your arms in bloom
I guess I’ll see you later,
Lonely bay-window me
Looking out
In three directions
A stranger crosses the street
The blinds close and the table
Changes its clothes
Putting on a puffy
Overcoat, a big synthetic
Drapery for which
Snow is a playmate—
Flakes against blue parka
The tyvek separates me from you.
I will give you a sleeve,
A detachable hood, take care
I hate seeing you shiver:
Come back to bed
Let’s pull the blankets
Over our heads
And you can tell me a story
A story that ends
With us under a cedar
And I can see you
Clear as day by the pale light
Of this new moon
The red in your cheeks
And the red in the leaves
They are two mittens
The season makes me shy to wear
But not ashamed—
I’m happy being quiet.
When I get home I take off my shoes
Lay on the floor
And listen to the radiator
The keys are where
I left them
That piano: always there
Always alive, like the petals
On my favorite flower.
My favorite flower
Is blooming right now!
An excerpt of Breaststa was published at the excellent website http://wolfinafield.blogspot.
