each morning
\ni enter the library<\/p>\n
first
\ninto the glass airlock
\nthrough double doors
\nthat help you push them
\nopen, pause at their widest
\ncollapse emphatically
\nresisting interruption
\nif your rhythm is wrong<\/p>\n
then
\nthe second double doors
\ninert and flimsy, no will
\nin the shadow of
\nthe first. <\/p>\n
then
\nhip high metal flippers
\nmake me a pinball
\nricocheting right
\nacross the reading room
\nthrough clicking wooden door
\ninto invisible library parts still quiet
\nwhen the phones stop ringing. <\/p>\n
tuesday
\nin the airlock
\na tiger swallowtail still
\non the flat flush floor
\nsill of plate glass
\nsurveying brick
\nbehind a tree in a pot
\nbeside a cardboard death trap<\/p>\n
how do i see these things?
\nwhy must i notice
\nthe hatchling in the leaves
\nthe beetle struggling beneath bananas
\nthe steel blue feather in the grass
\nthe abyss in the eyes of strangers?<\/p>\n
i walk alone, quiet, and look
\ni see more than most
\ni think
\nyet
\ni can’t fathom all the wonders
\ni do not see
\ndespite looking<\/p>\n
sometimes
\ni try to keep walking
\nleave the feather on the ground
\ndo not carry the cicada
\nfrom the brick walk to the tree
\ndo not tuck another fallen leaf
\nbetween the leaves of your calendar
\nbut it is painful not to stop
\nnot to treasure
\nnot to honor
\nnot to try<\/p>\n
before
\ni make it to my desk
\ni know i will
\ndrop my bags
\npower on the computer
\nturn around
\nout the clacking door
\nacross the reading room
\nbetween the scanning sentinels
\nout the flat doors
\ninto the violent heat<\/p>\n
then
\naround around and back
\nairlock again
\nrustle behind the potted trees
\nthe circulation desk
\nmust think i’m touched<\/p>\n
but
\ni touch you
\ntentative
\nyour wing flaps up
\nand i had imagined
\nyou were probably dead<\/p>\n
so
\ncareful careful
\nmust get you outside
\ncareful, touch thorax
\ntouch abdomen
\ncareful, touch not your wings<\/p>\n
through flimsy doors
\nthrough flippers
\nricochet left
\nwondering
\nat your strength in my hand
\nyour wings slowly beat
\nwhy we walk around in circles
\nlocks and one way doors<\/p>\n
careful careful
\nplease do not fly
\nnot in the library
\nit houses a different kind of life
\nanother kind of beauty<\/p>\n
careful careful
\njust a moment more<\/p>\n
see
\ni’m frightened
\nof trying to help
\nscared
\ni might instead harm<\/p>\n
careful
\nthrough the flat doors
\noutside
\nwhere you belong
\nswallowtail, meet shrub<\/p>\n
but
\nsomething
\nis wrong and sticky
\nyour hindlegs tangled
\nin what might
\nor might not
\nbe cobwebs<\/p>\n
i pull the tacky mass
\ngentle
\nbut my body betrays me
\nthe more i need precision
\nthe more
\nmy heart pounds
\nmy hands shake <\/p>\n
hopeful i am not hurting you
\nafraid to pull the cobwebby clump<\/p>\n
(can you even imagine
\ntearing the legs from a butterfly?<\/p>\n
i can imagine why i have been
\nfinding cicadas crushed
\ninto concrete or brick
\ncampus is full of students
\nnow<\/p>\n
and
\ni hope
\nbut doubt
\ntheir steps
\nare accidents)<\/p>\n
your wings beat faster
\nwhen i pull
\ndo i project your fear?
\npain?
\nyour insect wild
\nneed to flee?
\ni can’t hold you
\ncan’t pull harder
\nyou take flight<\/p>\n
first
\nyou struggle
\nso do i
\napprehending the possibility
\nof watching you fall<\/p>\n
then
\nyou find
\nyour rhythm<\/p>\n
now
\nascending black
\nagainst clear hot sky
\nropy burden dangling behind<\/p>\n
now
\nall that exists is you
\nflitting up
\nup higher
\nhigh into the blue
\nhigher than i knew
\neven unburdened
\npapillons could fly<\/p>\n
then
\nyou are gone
\nbehind roof line
\nout of sight<\/p>\n
i am shaken
\nshaking i failed to save you
\nreleased you into danger
\nwith a sticky weight
\na mark upon you
\ndragging you down to
\ncertain and soon
\ndeath <\/p>\n
again
\nthrough the willful doors
\nthe airlock, flimsy doors, flippers
\nfighting disappointment
\nfear of tears
\nor moistness of eyes
\nof people saying
\nonce again
\ntoo sensitive, silly
\ncrying over butterflies
\nor birds hit by cars
\neverything dies<\/p>\n
but
\ntaking flight
\nis freedom
\nis hope
\nspying a startled bird
\nalighting directly into steel destruction
\nis perverse<\/p>\n
a butterfly
\nclimbing
\nup and away
\ntowing its sticky demise:
\nthe same<\/p>\n
like this
\nto office, to cube
\nto work, to meeting
\nto prepare
\nfor disaster<\/p>\n
emergency comes in flavors:
\nfire
\nwind
\nbuildings collapsing to earth
\nsecurity
\nwhich means a human with a gun
\nor two or four<\/p>\n
amid this
\nlistening, talking
\nplanning, debate
\nsubsides
\nthe ache in my chest
\nbehind my eyes<\/p>\n
later
\nthe sadness finds me again
\nand i wonder
\nwhy is it
\ncontingencies of human evil
\ndistract from the centered ache
\nand
\nwhat it means
\nthat this is so
\nand
\nhow many ways exist
\nof being a traitor
\nto your own kind<\/p>\n
* I haven’t claimed to be a poet in over 13 years, but some things just want to come out in fragments and images and this is one of them. An unpolished unrevised ramble. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
each morning i enter the library first into the glass airlock through double doors that help you push them open, pause at their widest collapse emphatically resisting interruption if your rhythm is wrong then the second double doors inert and … Continue reading