And the things we number ourselves by.
Sidewalks and chain link fences.
Orange in the Fall with
orange and blue mums on the front porch.
These are the things we stress, open doors
leading past living rooms that are never used.
Neighbors who never come over, who never
talk on the phone. My mother with her Pekinese
with it making an asthmatic snort and my comment that
it looked like a meatloaf with fur. And a tongue.
Inside a second is another second waiting to fall down
the stairs like acrobats, hundreds of seconds
becoming human souls upon the birth of each second.
Chased by a golden Pekinese like army men freed
storming into the basement. I was seven. And
the circus was in town. Elephants waited in the basement
with Zebras and Lions. 52-53 and the score was almost tied.
Tanks bouncing down the stairs into infinity and Lions gingerly
stepping over them on the concrete floor. I fell into the silence…
and the ocean disappeared. And the elephants hid. Had I ever been a child?
Had the ocean ever been my best friend.
September 