Friday, August 5, 2011

My Name is Buried

The first thing I saw was
A music whispering into my ears a distant rapture
Of clouds I had walked under. Gray clouds.

It was a fish, or a leaf that looked like a fish.
Dead by the corner of the street. I almost walked it over
Feeling a shine in its eyes I turned away.
And it laid there, quiet in an autumn morning.

I took my leave and went on with my day.
In there somewhere, a resistance is shaping.
Against this wallpaper that has dead fish stuck on its surface,
Against this branch that visits my window every night
When the wind blows over my home.

Me, and that fish, on the wallpaper, we form a resistance,
Against the unimportance of things.
And we both grow dim and hide in our own shades
As you go on with another life, another place.

My breasts are sagging and I am growing old
I know how one gets old
Sitting by the misshaped lamp, out on the terrace
Dark evenings that grow into a black canvas, blinking.

My name meant star once in an ancient world.
It does not matter anymore.


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