CRESCENTIA

 

Imaginary saints deliver miracles

Almost indistinguishable from those

Of real ones; they charge less and

Rarely brag about it afterwards.

1001

 

Because I once absent-mindedly asked

Teshub for rain he and the other Hittite Gods

Consider me a devoté. They turn up --

All thousand of them -- at the edge of my dreams

Or leave me flyers, offering to perform miracles.

Except for Tarhunt and Teshub, they've mostly

Forgotten who they were and what they did.

I plan just before I'm supposed to die

To slip in among them. Death's eyes aren't what they were

And acting purposeless? I've been practicing for years.

THREE PANELS

 

In the triptych's righthand panel

A tiny figure rows desperately

Across a broad summer's lake

If he ever reaches the shore

He'll cross into the central panel

Where a geisha, ten times his size,

Stands, wearing a shimmering kimono

With a blue-green carp swimming on it.

Boat and all, she'll lift him, 

And place him gently in the last panel

Where an umbrella with a traveler beneath it

Struggles through the snow.

ACT NOW -- SUPPLIES ARE LIMITED

 

Around five o'clock

A nonce god makes himself

From the scraps of winter light

For which the day found no use. 

Temples are thrown together; 

Miracles are distributed; 

Nameless sins are absolved.

KKEP IN MIND

 

Carnea, the Roman goddess

Of door-hinges, has 

A license to forgive sins so long

As they aren't major 

And involve hardware.

MUSETTE

 

My father's friend John Drachmann

Could've died several times in the War

But his musette bag -- a hardy confection

Of brass and canvas -- would have survived

Anything short of a direct hit by a shell

Or being doused in gasoline and set on fire.

He gave it to me when he gave away

Everything that reminded him he'd been a soldier.

My brother got his dogtags and bitterly regretted

Our mother not letting him have a spent bullet

On which John had scratched his initials.

COURT

 

Entering the courtroom you must

Be prepared for anything. You may

Be tossed a robe and expected

To sit up high, rendering judgments.

Equally, you may have to put on

Clothes that don't fit, a jailhouse pallor

And a look of anxious guilt as you mutter

"Not guilty, Your Honor." Or you may

Be left almost featureless prepared

To be the spectator who's wandered in

Since it's raining and he's nowhere else to be.

DREAMLIFE

 

When I was fifteen or so I had a series

Of the most boring dreams imaginable --

Worse, even, than Prince Genji's dream

About having fallen asleep. In my dreams

Quite ordinary things happened -- I went to school

And came home. The things I learned

Were plausible; I remained fully dressed,

Never found I had to take a test in a room

That hid itself. I did exactly as well on dream tests

As I did on real ones. My friends behaved

As they usually did. One of them told me

His sister was getting married. (If she'd been three

I might have said "I'm dreaming," but she was 26.)

Perhaps these dreams were rejected drafts

For my actual days. No harm was done; I just have

Clear memories of things that never happened.

WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT MY GRANDMOTHER AND HER DAUGHTERS

 

Esther was an accomplished woman who could

Make noodles from scratch or learn a language

From her children's books or safely use for years

A kitchen knife that had a curse on it. When she died

Her four surviving daughters -- who got their noodles

From boxes -- decided the best thing to do

Would be to bury the knife and the second best thing

Would be to not tell their brothers where they buried it.