And daybreak! The sun
I thought I saw God spread out
in the roses again—
I will be taken up
like flame in a cloud like a cinder in fire
to outflap the empyrean—
Dead things gumming the sidewalk.
Tell me: What good is a life that wears away?
I chew the red wire,
then the blue wire.
Then through the flowered wallpaper—
Oh! Look at this charming table:
already set; built for a mouse;
and silent as a banquet hall
after the guests have gone.
I was a dead thing once.
On the back porch once—
facing the square
of my mother’s rose-
garden, with the northfacing windows
full-opened in June, and other flowers,
the names I’ve forgotten, all gone
I’ve heard the train horn bawl out again
from across the river, first sound
I remember, tolled
thru the walls of an empty house,
have watched the coyotes come loping
over across these frost-flocked rows of the field—
‘Quick—to the window, Mother
come see—the coyote
he’s dragging a haunch by the bone.’
He’ll lay it down, lie down
beside it, then sink
his teeth in the flitch.
The dream is big, the dream is fancy:
The dream is big and fancy.
The rodent: cuddly; but a little dirty.
I’ll keep him as a pet, I’ll pet him like
Remember summer, Jordan?
Eating quinces, spitting the seeds?
And how you never ate quinces again
when they laughed when you called them quinces?
And now there are no more quinces?
I do remember quinces.
Beautiful ones—I see you everywhere.
Hiding inside yourselves
Sometimes time is iron. Swing it hard
hear it whoosh.
At the door, the red curtain is still flapping.
Who will go in?
The one who is going
No, I do not die here.
The year is wrong.
and today no cloud cover.
I wish my heart was as big as the world,
The sun sitting up
ever so slowly—
July 16, 2013
By Jordan Zandi