My Daughter Among the Names
Difficult once I've said things to know them this morning the lights above the tollway all off at exactly 7:36 all "we took our yellow from the pewter sky." But we have so many things! Stories about our diction, the leather couch some trees and our ages. What about all the rooms the sky makes— she tried several spaces today, under a desk, a nook bent to her. I thought of picking a fight with dead Bachelard. Her small body a new host for waters, spaces brought round for viruses, their articulations, their ranges. Think of all the products left behind by a shift in design— iPod cases, dancers called spirit rappers sites where "women, negroes, natives were acted out" for Rev. Hiram Mattison "vehicles of impurity." "My children too have learned a barbarous tongue, though it's not so sure they will rise to high command"— Tu Fu or Bernadette Mayer on Hawthorne's American Notebooks a boy tried to hang a dog in a playground, she said. O structural inequalities! O explanations! The owner of the desert house we rented plants butterfly bushes, cenizo, and columns of dark leaves where birds go. Sharp sweet dung smell off the horse trailer after it pulls away. What about all the rooms the sky makes? Faint blue expanse a long far line of electric poles a mountain I can see. Dog yelps almost digital maybe from inside a car at the Dollar General. She made her first marks today on this page rain hand here
Copyright © 2011 by Farid Matuk. Used with permission of the author.