Clutter: An Inventory
Posted on August 4, 2006
in Poems
The stoneware cup — not made of stone, naturally — bought to replicate the liquid space of all the other mugs huddling in kitchen cabinets.
The empty amber medicine bottle dispensing a memory of clouds passed
The magnifying glass useful for reading the fine print of insect wings.
The pens at the ready, drained to the spring.
Dental floss for savaging gumborne pestilence, for razing bacterial beds, mottled spots moving, circling.
One stainless steel spoon turned over, refusing food.
The books and books and books — hoots in my throat, clicks in my mouth, corners and circles in my eyes.
A pair of pliers.
A calendar of Ansel Adams photographs.
The purple disk concealing an asthma release gun: you pull the trigger and suck the magic bullet into your lungs.
The eyedrops lying on their saline side — weep no more.
The empty bottles and cans, the overturned soda cup, all manner of holdings and coverings, empty as a quiet place in the wind.
Ankle braces, knee braces, wrist braces with strings to pull and to tighten; and Velcro to patch atop fuzzy swatches. List them.
