Spider City
After a while I dreamt about
the Spider City
& when I woke up in my
flannel pj’s
the curtain flapped open
& the sky greeted me.
Hello Karen, Hello Little Bee,
it said which is when
I remembered the strange
webbed sky of the Spider
City & your face in the
middle saying Kiss Me.
Breathless City
Every city is a little breathless,
a little behind the times,
racing to catch up, thus
gasping.
That day I wore a gray suit,
white gloves, 1960 or so.
Some thin man approached
& offered me $$ to
pose in the nude.
The sun over St. Patrick’s
Cathedral like a child’s
sun, all rays around
a smiling face
& the man whose gray suit
matched my own was
called Ray!
Such coincidences
occur in a city whose heart
splits open in two shocks.
But this happened later.
& I wasn’t around
though I watched it on TV.
Dapper City
In Florida the palm branches
rustle like neckties,
the ocean an opulent
cologne we plunder,
the grass, green as the
stolen eye of the Dowager
or a bruised infant
which is so sad
found in the trash can
among some white receipts
& spaghetti.
I am smoking a cigarette
wishing it were over–
the parasols, the gliding waterway
ships, the cocktails,
the aces & clubs, the languorous beach
stretches, the strings of pearls,
hats–
wishing it would begin again.
Dieting City
Or Starving City. It’s hard
to tell. For one thing, it’s
dark & for another
I feel inadequate.
My perpetual motion has
ceased to amuse anyone here
(I confide) even though...
I wore a beautiful skirt of red silk
& when I whirled you could
see everything–
the river
with its captured lights, the
glint of bridges, the
pock-marked Palisades,
aflame.
So much of this is untrue.
A worm slunk in the sidewalk cracks.
An old, old woman, wreathed
in snot,
spoke sharply: She said,
“just because you give me five dollars
don’t entitle you to my life’s story.”
City of Jokes
A man goes to a psychiatrist
sporting a huge gash in his
forehead, says I bit
myself. How did you
do that? asks the psychiatrist.
It was easy, says the man.
I stood on a stool.
Afterwards, I pulled out of
the parking garage & the
day was overcast, streets
icy.
I drove up the hill & took
a right. I drove by the
drive-in coffee place &
the brown house with the
shutters & took a left
& then I was home.
I turned
on the radio at this point.
A girl with a cane made her way
down the sidewalk.
She was a stranger,
& she was my daughter.
Elizabethan City
I encountered Hamlet in a glade
& this scene, forsooth, changed into
hills &
then again a dark chamber
in which my own mother lay dying.
I wish it were another era
but things occur where
they will
& my defenses are poor ones.
She has elegant bones which,
in age, have become sharp &
unfriendly.
(Oh the body weeps & slickers
of hair cover all of us who
keep vigils.)
In a moment, I too, would
invent a soliloquy about
existence.
My heart in its jeweled box
as of nothing
& zero the shape of
sorrow which doesn’t
add up.
City of Dot Dot Dot
There was a window, a drape,
a venetian blind thickened with
dust, an accordion sound
up from the street...
Your friend the author [was] inside
this which was inside that which was
once again...
ad nauseum...
contained in...
etc etc...
Space
shrinks & even afternoons
which once seemed so voluminous
have dwindled to a sad heap...
Little wrinkled days no longer
unfold... Lawns have grown
minuscule & purposeless... Hairs
sprout on the female chin & buildings
formerly majestic are...
But I was crazy then...
In the fullness of each moment...
I walked everywhere in the gloam & sand...
City of Basements
Of course, conducive to sleep.
Of course, musty & poorly
organized. You wouldn’t go there
uninvited. I wouldn’t invite you.
But there are chinks in the brick ceilings
that make it seem radiant
elsewhere, which is a blessing.
& amid the rats & spider houses
I might invent something
spectacular (I almost believe).
This is all I have to say about it.
Because it is unamenable to description.
Because even now my eyes are closing.
Pity yourself, Sister.
Life is harder than you dreamed possible.
Karen Brennan, "The Real Enough World," from The Real Enough World, © 2005 by Karen Brennan. Used by permission of Wesleyan University Press.