augury doggerel

Wednesday, June 19, 2002


Now it�s warm here. People on the streets are down to skin and a bit of civil cotton. Forgotten legs and breasts and bellies of every bulge are out reminding us of the people under the clothes. The innies are out. You will worship the sun or stand in her shadow.

So write a story for children. Under the grass, you find a door to winter frosting up through the heat, and a slide of ice to a lake frozen like glass and lit from beneath by the moon. Look through the lake to the stars on the other side, constellations in reverse, in blue. And fish swim through, cool and smooth, looking up at you. You remember your feet are bare and you shiver but you find hanging in an old tree a pair of skates, two soft fur boots on bright crescent moons. You put them on and carve in the ice your name, your face, with each stride on the lake. The fish move beneath your fast feet, swirling between you and the moon on the other side. Hang the skates back in the tree and, when no one is looking, return up through the warm grass with a white spray of ice in your hair, and close the door secretly behind you.

Chickadee report: the people at the animal shelter say the chickadee has already recovered and flown off.


Post a Comment

<< Home