The last word, the last hasty swallow
you get up from the table, after your working day
and catch the first bus to the kitchen
you tear off a hunk of bread, inhale the good oven odors
Your body, leaden with weariness, the mold
you cram with rich food
Switch on the set
and inspect the backyard
through another screen
with a wet linger
you flip the pages of the sky.
Nothing will come of nothing.
float in the void … THEY MUST BE TRAINED ON A TRELLIS
your daughter brings you a chair
The table is set, your wife calls
through the window of a parallel world.
After dinner, you walk in the garden
alone in your pressurized space-suit,
stars all around you
even beneath you. Your antennae must be redirected.
the pear tree, newly pruned, requires manure.
Back to the module:
Daddy, what does it mean
to be a monster?
Suddenly, the chain of command dissolves
bits of paper whirling in free fall
around the table:
and your pencil, ominous as a revolver.
translated by Carolyn Kizer. From Reading the Ashes