The Elephants

Appointment

The course is gradual
the way ragweed cracks cement.

She said if there were only two things
in this life she wanted to change
she could work on one
every other day.

But she has thirteen desires
and the suckers on the apple tree
have grown past her bedroom window.
She has come to envy its wildness
and grit, the small spotted fruit
dropping early to the grass.

I suggest that the sky
has an endpoint
as brindled and torn
as its starting point.

Rotting apples sweeten the breeze
as she slices scallions gathered from the yard.
The tree was there before she was,
back when it was a small, lovely idea.

Adjustments we consider
1)   more time floating
2)   address the self formally, in the third person
3)   fewer lists

---

Yahrzeit

Grief lifts, almost imperceptibly.
From a boulder to a stone.

For awhile I’ll carry it in my fist.
People like me do not want things
to go too quickly.

Standing still
eyes closed, breeze tossing
a few strands of hair across my face.

I smile to myself when people ask for my help
because they want to be normal.

What is it called when you don’t try
to be very good or very bad?

Dear lonesome normal,
each night dreams ruin you.

What other animal has learned
to hate itself?

The summer the eider ducks got sick
we walked down Jeremy Point and saw
how evenly apart they chose their spots to die—

finally answering the question
How close, how far?

---

Artist’s Statement

This is a circle
I painted with my eyes closed
the day the landlord cut down
the blue thistle growing
through my deck boards.

I wanted to examine the power
of those who are in charge over
those who are inside
sleeping.

Teach me to pronounce
the name of your city.

Every girl’s dream:
riding a bus, then a subway
then crawling through a small passage.

Every girl wakes
bleeding from her knees.

This contour suggests
the velocity of a speck on my continent
arcing toward yours.

At first it was not intentional
but as it emerged I saw
a universal gesture,
as if sweeping bombs
back into the sky.

Teach me to say
make yourself at home
in your language.

---

ghostwriting the song of a small city

now and then a good question finds a crack and spills through
from the low road and the rail yard grind and clang
you looking into the face of the animal that is you
the depreciation a woman feels
at the table this morning a still life of you lifting your head from your hands
now and then we pull each other through
let’s include that stranger on the side of the street singing as he walks
the soft hiss of morning sun chewing through the fog
the bright wild eyes of a lost coyote who stands at the edge of the city park, panting
all the harsh seasons and sentences never said aloud
now and then every strain joins the arrangement and rises