Carrier (standing woman carrying wolf)
after Kiki Smith
She was preaching no sermon except
the one that goes love thyself, sinner, and love
them animals, the ones running past you
in the night when you can hardly breathe
their fur gets so close and all you want to do
is pass out so you don't remember how good
they smell and if you want to be one.
First principles
In the beginning was the labyrinth.
It was the size of a continent, the inside
of a jar she carried in her shoulder
bag, swinging while she walked.
Sometimes she didnt know it was there
but underneath everything walls
would rise, hold
up construction of new roads, and
she would reknow: it was there, she
had seen it. The labyrinth covered
everything in questions.
It opened windows to the sea
where no sea should have been.
She entered it daily:
she never wore a watch, she carried
Nothing with her, or she carried
her knitting, she emptied
the canvas bag at every turn
and filled it
with sand, guitar
strings, replicas of Macchu Picchu
and Nerudas house. Nothing
was enough. The labyrinth
followed her from one edge
of the world to another.
It was all around her, like her mothers love.
Every morning she reentered
the labyrinth from the labyrinth.
The smell of the sea that wasnt there.
The clicking shadows of laurel trees
and their scent; she was full
without eating. Outside
were shores and straw
boats and the ends of strings leading
from the center. The jar
she carried was lighter
and lighter as the labyrinth went out into the world.
Post
The letter arrived after waiting for it.
By letter we mean a drawing folded in half.
We watched it uncrease.
By drawing we mean a woman lying on the floor.
We've been believing in the posts so long it's second nature now.
Days go through us without a single doubt.
Airmail, that's the future speed.
Have you noticed how uncertain some addresses feel these days?
Ignore that.
Go and see if there's nothing in the mail.