Friday, April 20, 2012

Seaside Improvisation

I take off my hands and give them to you but you don't
                                                  want them so I take them back 
   and put them on the wrong way, the wrong wrists. The yard is dark.
the tomatoes are next to the whitewashed wall,
                     the book on the table is  about Spain,
                                                                         the windows are painted shut.
Tonight you're thinking of cities under crowns
             of snow and I stare at you like I'm looking through a window,
                                                                           counting birds.
                                                You wanted happiness, I can't blame you for that,
and maybe a mouth sounds idiotic when it blathers on about joy
             but tell me
you love this, tell me you're not miserable.
                                                               You do the math, you expect the trouble.
            The seaside town. The electric fence.
Draw a circle with a piece of chalk. Imagine standing in a constant cone 
                                                of light. Imagine surrender. Imagine being useless.
A stone on the path means the tea's not ready,
          a stone in the hand means somebody's angry, the stone inside you still
hasn't hit bottom.

                                                                                        from Crush by Richard Siken

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