Your file in my mind's cabinet measures sharply thin. Others, fat and heavy, barely contained in the manila, scraps of scribble-stocked multicolored paper stuffed inside ... 1. White knuckles grasp the tractor steering wheel. He presses figure eights into the yard, exorcising its slinky demon. 2. Noon sun pulls sweat streams from her face. She hunches toward the tall corn plant, battles for one golden fruit. The shreds feed my drawers. Files corseted in rubber bands stretched thin. Your file needs none. You hibernate alphabetically, snore until I call on you. Even then, I must reach in and grasp your cutting edges. I shake you out of my hand. You slap against the floor. With my foot, I slide you around. You surrender one blue paper ... 3. Three sets of shivers three smiling child faces ice-cold fingers press the doorbell. floor-model TV blares colored sound through a thinly curtained window staring at the cemetery across the street. MERRY CHRISTMAS, GRANDDADDY! black marker on red posterboard reindeer-covered boxes in a bright green, shiny bag Press again. Nothing Nothing I tighten my throat, set my jaw. Dam the flood of saline emotion. Back into the FAMILY cabinet you go. Blue paper and all.
Posted inPoetry
Blue Paper and All
