Heaven
What I call Sissy Spacek
time of day. Like an ink stain looming
behind the live oaks. I was draping
laundry over the porch railing to dry
and pretty much thinking
a wild piece of laundry
in the sky. What about you? It disappears
so quick in this heat or folds
over. Otherwise we are filled
with fire. Further away,
trees were emerging
from their brights tents and stretching.
Orange lingering in the clouds,
those open-minded houses.
Isn’t it the worst color?
Like she’s only trying
to look around and go home.
Did you go?
The end of summer was forcing
a flock out a bay window.
That’s all there was today,
but I didn’t. Sometimes I can
think a white veil
over the city. The sun pouring reds
into a space no larger
than a bird. Have you seen it
from every angle? The circus
with its silence stripes
and eyes? Boats
rowing quieter than snow?
Theater of Love
So much was impossible
to realize with only the stage
and its limited materials:
A brick wall, a basket filled
with white sheets, and another interior
behind the scrim, meant for later.
People dressed like Jackie O.
Often, the way they behaved
made you understand the setting
had changed: a sandbox
to a house. A house
to a house overgrown with trees.
The prince fled
through the emergency exit door.
When he died, his father let sand
fall from his hands.
Other times, people
were unintelligible. In the middle
of speaking, the old woman
began to crawl on the ground.
Information moved like stacked plates,
one under the other. On top
was something you knew
or would later know.
