Thursday, November 20, 2003
My Wife's Dinner -- draft 2
Staring a thin land away,
the day rolling in on me
like encroaching grass,
water in the lungs,
or pressure against
a sinking car
with wheels still turning,
I think of her, sitting
in the quiet kitchen,
counting the ticks
of the clock as her bird
flutters with its clipped wings
perch to perch,
caught by a claw,
upside-down,
clumsy and coordinated at once,
above, aloft, alone,
in time.
the day rolling in on me
like encroaching grass,
water in the lungs,
or pressure against
a sinking car
with wheels still turning,
I think of her, sitting
in the quiet kitchen,
counting the ticks
of the clock as her bird
flutters with its clipped wings
perch to perch,
caught by a claw,
upside-down,
clumsy and coordinated at once,
above, aloft, alone,
in time.
