Such Nice Lines!
Such Nice Lines!
Assemble enough
petite tea and sake
cups, they make rank.
A thimble convening.
Each hoisting invisible bayonets,
a hard-hatted waiting
bracingly to defend — by the looks of it —
from a housefly
impossibly here.
Inside
against the odds
of property, season and
weatherized windows.
“Such nice lines!” says
the poet,
the sergeant,
the interior decorator.
After all, their work makes shadows
along the adorned
and unadored flotsam of life.
Each pacing their creed like it’s frozen over,
stitching and unstitching light from light.
It’s still shadow season so… another poem steeped in shadow. One time a friend walked into our home and, upon seeing our dining room table and one or two other pleasant objects, proclaimed “such nice lines!” For some reason, it has stuck with me. Then, this morning, I was glancing around at the knick-knacks we’ve accrued from traveling — small, seemingly unusable pottery and vessels —and realized that we are nearing a critical mass. The way shadow plays on the lip of a small cup, the rampant definition of darkness!
I guess this is just to say that anything can be a home. (I meant poem but typed home and that seemed equally correct. Leaving it.)
A challenge: notice a particular shadow today (not your own) and imagine what the scene would look like without it. Maybe even thank it.
Thanks for reading.