Calendary
by Lindsay Illich
Low as the heart’s low
thrum, dark as moon wink.
The camp of mind, as dust
losing its place in the caste
of mystery. Recall the piano bench,
a door jamb, losing
all taste for living here.
The little house in a row
of little houses forgets to mean.
The middle life of books
and paperclip, a diaper’s
heavy weight, the dog’s bowl
always empty again.
Dram of aspirin, hum
of appliance, awl. Winterness
a carved carbuncle of January.
Like a splinter, this isn’t where
we were supposed to be.
Like errata, then waking up again,
kneeling at the coffeemaker,
bargaining with what gods will listen.
Lindsay Illich teaches writing at Curry College in Milton, MA. Her work has recently appeared in Improbable Worlds: An Anthology of Texas and Louisiana Poets.