(no subject)
“NON SONNET FOR A DRYING MOON”
Last night, while sleeping, I bent everything I own
in half-woke up sandwiched in my bed and tried
to read the alarm clock’s pile of glowing language.
What would Martha do to a room bent all in half?
She’s unavailable for comment now, it’s true
but do you, also you, tell the truth only half of the time?
In the middle of every week and once on Sunday,
Gardeners work over the entirety of my neighbor’s back yard.
It’s pretty loud. They have a hot tob that they never use.
I would use it. I could use a lot of things. I could use,
for instance, the piece of paper that notates
how many times today you thought of me.
I’ve been sitting in my cardboard office all day. You
don’t know
the half of it. And now the late afternoon light in all its
warmly
cantankerous glow. I almost forgot to mention the
leaves,
glazed as they are now with tangerine. Can you see them?
-- Betsy Wheeler
Last night, while sleeping, I bent everything I own
in half-woke up sandwiched in my bed and tried
to read the alarm clock’s pile of glowing language.
What would Martha do to a room bent all in half?
She’s unavailable for comment now, it’s true
but do you, also you, tell the truth only half of the time?
In the middle of every week and once on Sunday,
Gardeners work over the entirety of my neighbor’s back yard.
It’s pretty loud. They have a hot tob that they never use.
I would use it. I could use a lot of things. I could use,
for instance, the piece of paper that notates
how many times today you thought of me.
I’ve been sitting in my cardboard office all day. You
don’t know
the half of it. And now the late afternoon light in all its
warmly
cantankerous glow. I almost forgot to mention the
leaves,
glazed as they are now with tangerine. Can you see them?
-- Betsy Wheeler