|
Who
needs meditation or hypnosis
when loss alone transports
one to immobility?
Errant
ones once wholly loved
live on elsewhere, unspotted
by search crews because
missing persons are
accidentally gone.
But
you, your intent is to
be forgotten. Surely you
know, Dad, that no one
forgets an amputated leg.
Copyright
© 2000
Michelle Cartland
Return
to Top
While
rushing autos whir
by on some faraway
freeway and galaxies reproduce;
while ants, with foibles
no less far-reaching in
worlds no less large to them
than mine, burrow
I
carve out my life on this stone
so large that even I see
not its composition
This
village, my home
sits upon its ridge, trivial--
and my life, more so even
than I can envision
with all its methodical
repetitions of what is done
and already known.
Copyright
© 2000
Michelle Cartland
Return
to Top
I
am not taken aback that
below the eggshell amasses
a raw, repulsive gob
resembling what comes of
my lungs when the flu lingers-
isn't that what life's about?
So
it is natural to know, too,
that when exchanging niceties
in public, my face is hard-boiled.
What truth would otherwise
course through the aisles
of the county transit?
But
there are, after all, amidst
us eggs which remain rare; await-
ing escape. Like the mob of kids
inching away from the single file
toward the vacant seats on a rollercoaster.
They boil to the gate.
The
innards of these erupt
easily, even when courtesy
would prohibit that.
Sometimes
trickling eruptions
tear micro-stucco facades.
Copyright
© Michelle Cartland
Return
to Top
|
