Five Poems

Elaine Equi

FURTHER ADVENTURES

The bird carries her off in its beak

her prettiness

(ribbon                    heart’s rouge)

straining against flight, doing what she never

dreamed (actually, what she often dreamed

but never dared).                            Up high

one can see the breath of Time,

its cold exhale. Time has carried her off

and the world is rearing up on hind legs

like the statue of a general on his horse.

The girl carries the world off

(its prettiness and twin ugliness)

as surely as she is carried, yet can’t stop

feeling she has forgotten something:

a necklace of beads, a train of thought,

a funeral procession with a broken clasp.

Something shining beneath the world

(a word                                  a charm).

Something is calling her back.

LEAN-TO

The eye of the walking stick opened,

polished with ego (of good quality).

A crutch is a useful thing.

Shadow in shadow,

character in character,

mano a mano,

we walked the length of the city

(a wheezing                 a many-chimneyed thing).

What is a story, I asked.

A story is a poultice, you said

applying its pressure.

A story is a blindfold

for leading the blind.

The ego glittered,

the city slowed.

Cautiously, the eye

of the walking stick opened.

“YOUR PURPLE ARRIVES”

Purple flower.

Purple heart.

Heap of sharp

and muddy edges.

Bruise or blossom?

Harp strings

trickle-down

realignment

of morning’s slow …

bright bug

with a crumb of window

on its back.

DESSERT

This caramel is scriptural.

This lemon tart more beautiful than a Matisse.

It’s the way paintings (and heaven) taste

as they dissolve and we internalize them.

Gurus know it.

Don’t you remember after they slapped us

with peacock-feather-fans,

the little piece of rock candy

we each got and sucked in the corner,

thinking that if the mantras didn’t work,

at least there was this.

OUT OF THE CLOUD CHAMBER

and into the street.

Out of the art-deco prison

and into the cozy burning house,

the bleak house,

the decadent steak house.

Out of the mouths of tulips and slaves.

Out of the frying pan and into the choir.

Out of mimesis endlessly mocking.

Out like a debutante,

in like a thief.

Out of pocket,

out of reach.

Out of time

and into being.

Out of sight

and into seeing.

Out of your mind

and into your pants.

Out like a light

and in like a lamp.