Domovoi
I am the Anableps Of South Hubert Ave.
Unseen and gigantic
Marching down the center of the street
Passing by garden gnomes
And donut ring sprinkler guards
Tonight I am caught
Between dogwood and lilac skies
My left eye is half of a plastic ping pong ball
Opaque, round side out
This eye looks out onto a field of chalk
My right eye is the purple candy shell of a marshmallow easter egg
Marshmallow inside, butt end out
It gazes on dragonfruit
My body is tall and thick and made of jade
My forehead is stretched and my back is bent
My forehead like the god of long life
My back like Punch or Kokopelli
I am a cactus god buoying on a cement sea
I love the rhythm of my hooves on the sidewalks
No one hears them: clop clop, clop clop
I look down and my arms are like wood
I could topple an SUV or shatter windows
But I want to edge the yard
I want to talk to dogs and squirrels
And repair broken mailboxes at night
I am the Domovoi Of The Place
I pass by at dusk or in the lost minutes of the day
I saw the package delivered
I saw the newspapers arrive
I saw the last jack-o-lantern fizzle out
And the last Christmas tree laid by the road
And Pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey
And Hide-And-Go-Seek
Some had discovered me
I don't know how
But they built little houses
They used them to communicate with me
They sent messages to me
I sent messages back
Some erected a line with tin cans dangling
Others put out crappy lawn decorations
Or left the old rope swing up for me
Even after the kids had grown and gone
Sometimes I ache when a door slams
Behind harsh words
Or if I look into windows
And hear no conversation
Or discover a particular sadness there
At times
I want to be the very long, very red ridge beam in the ceiling
The creaky step on the staircase
Or the grand-daddiest rock on the mantelpiece
My ambassador an iron cricket that maps the minutes with his shadow on stone
My implements a shovel, broom and stoker
With such an armory
Some might take me to be Neptune or Lord Murugan
But I would not require such fame
I would be quite content
As a hook in a wall
As a broken doorbell
Or as a window pane
My cousins are all of these
And it's only a small thing for me
As I proudly remain the Goblin Of The Street
Kicking aside the acorns
And committing my flounderisms
On the lines between times and neighborhoods
Running from cars
Stealing the sidewalk cracks
Disappearing into shadows
And though not seen
Always waving
As I pass
Bill Rogers
January 19th, 2011