Decorations
(tired and high-pitched)
Ghosts have been tied into
the trees.
At dawn they pivot
In the wind slowly.
Where the moon windows in
I am of those
Who can’t stand it
Kept awake, humming with
trucks
While anything lunar
Won’t rut, ruminates. Overhead, uh-hunh—
Days, the neighbor’s girl
plays a game: what is?
What is dusk, she says, as the
sky
ends it begins.
I play myself. What is
death? What’s poetry? What
Is time? Time
needs no hanky, time blows by
the Kleenex flowers.
Or time’s
so slow, starry-cold, even is cold
and
sure, little admonishments.
.
Were you awake all night?
I was. I was awake all night.
-Kate Norhtrop
first published in Connotation Press: An Online Artifact.
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