Postcard for Marilla

James Stuart

The camera shutter comes down on a selection

of Cappadoccia’s finest caves, as if to prove

the fact I’ve never been there. Whole empires

could balance upon your first tooth but this life

we have prepared for you will close more quickly

than it opens, no matter how much we love each other.

Living in a city networked by smog, I dreamed

of novellas set in Beijing where the dead

disappear into its future with each urban reinvention.

Can you distinguish reflection from light yet?

Afternoon sun catches on Mekong Delta brackish glass,

its waters thinning out up stream, one dam at a time.

One day when you are ready, I’ll tell you

about great migrations we have destroyed & marsupials

you’ll never meet, even as they ghost

across scrubland on the television screen. Folly

of the world’s mindless plunge into convenience;

detritus accumulates across the ocean in plastic rafts.

You’ll have to trust me: the index page is useless

without the body to sit before it. Afternoon: I open

the shutters on your latest sleep; overcast day slips in

& a hot westerly slaps windows in their frames

invoking another place, another time. Still-unspoken words

gather as you pull up to me on the bars of your cot.