willow

by chris fillebrown

pecans scattered across my lawn
some in the shadows of the trees
outside colors fresh, clear blue
i wanted to write a poem for you
but the wax had melted
my vision blurred by summer highways

i settled back
to sleep
in my chair

air moved the shadows of the trees
seasons changed
cold air seeped through my clothes
the trees moved the air

i heard sounds behind me
thuds from inside my closet
i got up from my chair
and opened the door

in the back of the closet
behind my clothes
on a box of books
sat my poem
weakly raising her head
dropping it against the wall

hard plastic suggested a face
without features, expression
her calico dress
thinned, torn
her ears were huge

i stepped over my shoes,
pulled her pelvis to my shoulder
and stood

she toppled to my back

dust sloshed from her ear
sparkled its dullness off of my sleeve

i sat her at my typewriter

she had no mouth
but spoke to me all the same
- why did you sit me here
she asked
- i like a poem that writes itself
i answered, certain she remembered
it was two years until you learned to type how could I
at that point she could no longer speak
i offered her my pencil
she faced me
- don’t forget to give it back
i said

she reached for me
with her long fingers
felt my shoulders and my neck
pulled herself up
and stood beside me

window
fly flew loop
from window to window
its reflection flew into the yard
separates inside from out

her left hand dropped to my chest
her right hand
clutched the hair
on the back of my head
and pushed my face
against the
window

sun
high
cloudless sky
dog in yard
slow motion snapped at
a fly on its back
flew circles around its head

distant
she
animated
in a silent interval
my heart beat with hers
felt her eyes melt shut
tears
dark
she put pencil to paper

boy twisted spigot
on side of house
hose lurched spit
filled gushed cool
water spread across concrete
boy lifted nozzle to lips
drank
black bird
stood on stone wall
driveway wall sidewalk
boy dropped hose
shut valve
climbed onto wall
boy inspected ground sky
looked at bird
- why do i feel sad
looked at sidewalk

broken ants
weed jut crack
bird scratched age splintered beak
broken ants scattered across sidewalk
pedestrian casualty
sun crept across sky
trees carved breeze
six ants walked in line past weeds
gathered around dead
spokes
lifted dead from concrete
across sidewalk
into mound

poem took pencil from paper
her hand from my hair
my eyes pulled free from the glass

brain suspended in icy darkness
ice cube on a lover’s lips
liquid liberated by warmth
her face appeared in the vapors of my breath

- when nothing else makes sense
she said
- think of me

©2011, chris fillebrown, all rights reserved