726 Readings

Weak Attempts

In these days of
sleeping in closets,
huddled to memory
like boxed papers,

it is to read through old notes
on apple crisp and yellow teeth
to fall slumped into the same
hands again and again.

               this hand so raised
               as to come down in a hard moment

I can’t remember if pills or gas
wrote the afternoon, or both
and I forgot that too.

               on the phone
               shaking all parts
               to the floor
               a half-foot

It is to rummage through piles to stay objective,
to tease the thumb in and out of scalding water,
and I have hidden all my mugs.

It’s a memorial gathering
scattered as shingles on rooftops
and they’re all coming down,
together, draped over hangers
with bottles and cars.
Posted 09/26/09
Comments (0)