At least 800 gods attended, checking their attributes
At the door so that you couldn't tell one from another
Most of them lost their claim tickets and just grabbed
The first things they could find. Some of them
Were very good at grabbing which is why Baba Yaga
Is now in charge of love, war, shellfish, mold,
Marzipan, kittens, pied horses, chess bishops and
Tuesday mornings between five-thirty and seven.
Every few centuries Sobek renews
His license to be a crocodile. If being a god
Becomes impossible, he'll still be able
To make a living. He finds New York cold
Though he's been here for years.
Having nowhere else to be an hour
After the sun's left its posts
I see him spellbound by a Christmas window
Watching automatons repeat themselves endlessly.
Baba Yaga knows the names and addresses
Of the eight hundred gods of Litosk
The seven hundred demons of Goray
The five hundred golems of Neisau-Hrodnay
The four hundred demigods of Wilniu
And the three hundred nameless spirits
Who are forbidden to enter cities and sleep
In fields or in haystacks. Prayers meant for them
Must go through her. Some she forwards.
Some she answers. Some, refashioned,
She sends out to look out for themselves.
The provincial players are rehearsing
Waiting to be background for the miracle
To be performed when the saint --
Or an angel? Or God Himself? --
Arrives from the capital. Professionals,
They don't complain that no one
Has told them what the miracle is to be.
The fainting woman -- she does Mary the Virgin
A treat at Depositions -- is practicing falling backwards
Into the arms of an ostler and a smith. The man
Who runs by without noticing the Important Event
Is doing his stretching exercises. The child
Of indeterminate gender is feeding the cat
She'll tease once things get going. The extras
Discuss whether they should arrange themselves
As three small groups or one big one.
(The horse and the chickens are there in case
This is one of the miracles that require livestock.)
I have seen at least a thousand
Pictures of Mount Fuji but
If it passed me on the street
Would I recognize it at once
But preserve its incognito?
Would I shout "Mount Fuji!
Welcome to New York!" Perhaps
I'd walk right by or would assume
It was some other distinguished mountain --
Poroshiri, say, or Arakara or Ibuki --
Examining the statues in Seward Park.
I don't know if this is still so but
In Union Square the pigeons
Used to study the men and boys
Playing chess, preparing
For the change in the world's mechanics
That would require them to take up the game.
(There were few girls and women
Hunched over the boards back then
But perhaps in high summer
Some would hide in the leaves of
The trees -- Siberian Elms in particular --
Playing lightning rounds of chess,
Making small bets and occasionally
Dropping nuts on the men below.)
