ALSO BY SOUVANKHAM THAMMAVONGSA
Small Arguments (2003)
Found (2007)
Light (2013)
Copyright © 2019 by Souvankham Thammavongsa
McClelland & Stewart and colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House Canada Limited.
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the publisher—or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency—is an infringement of the copyright law.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Thammavongsa, Souvankham, 1978-, author Cluster / Souvankham Thammavongsa.
Poems.
ISBN 978-0-7710-7098-3 (softcover)
I. Title.
PS8589.H3457C58 2019 C811’.6 C2018-903253-7
Published simultaneously in the United States of America by McClelland & Stewart, a division of Penguin Random House Canada Limited.
ISBN 9780771070983
Ebook ISBN 9780771070990
Cover design: Kelly Hill
Cover image: © Miakievy / Getty Images
McClelland & Stewart, a division of Penguin Random House Canada Limited, a Penguin Random House Company
www.penguinrandomhouse.ca
v5.3.2
a
CONTENTS
Cover
Also by Souvankham Thammavongsa
Title Page
Copyright
Disclaimer Page
Cluster
Postcard from the Outskirts
Mother
Minute Maid Poster
Sunrise with Sea Monsters
Pregnant
We Always Lived with Mice
Brokerage Report I
Brokerage Report II
Summer
Winter
Last Day at the Office
A Seahorse
My Mother Gave Me
Gayatri
Zevart
Brokerage Report III
Brokerage Report IV
Nine O’Clock
Whales
Landing
Manual for Diving
Ants
Brokerage Report V
Picture of Us
My Mother’s House
Nandu
A Pebble
O
There Are No Photographs of Me
North
A Spider
Navy-Blue Cashmere
Glitter
Cost
Art
A Plastic Bear
Blowfish
Christmas
Twins
Theory of Writing
Another Picture of Us
A Snake
Mangosteens
Mister Snuffleupagus
Notes
Acknowledgements
About the Author
This title contains long lines of poetry. The line of characters below indicates approximately the longest line in the text:
But who among us would know our way back, could climb over that mess again?
To most accurately reproduce the layout of the text on the printed page, you may choose to decrease the size of the text on your viewer and/or change the orientation of your screen until the above line of characters fits on a single line. This may not be possible on all e-reading devices. Viewing this title at a higher than optimal text size or on a screen too small to accommodate the longest lines in the text will alter the reading experience and may cause single lines of some poems to display as multiple lines of text. If this occurs, the turn of the line will be marked with a shallow indent.
CLUSTER
The story they told us was wide and lost and ever changing
And the words it came with were small
Sprawling and crawling for its end
The end, if something could be said of it
Tried to take shadow and shape but closed and collapsed at its centre
Wound around an end a different coloured string
There might have been an umbrella, shoe, or even jewellery
But who among us would know our way back, could climb over that mess again?
Cut a hole into this page and hold it up to the sky
Tell us if it is day and the stars that kick in if it is night
Fluff the clouds if they look flat or trim the moon if it is full
Tell yourself yesterday was not tomorrow and none of it will ever be today
POSTCARD FROM THE OUTSKIRTS
Blueberries knot from the ground
Blue lustre as cold as steeled shells
Scattered and dropped throughout
A method of an organized pattern
Designed to be noticed from above
They insist they are natural this way
Nature is ruthless and very efficient
It is a prevailing wisdom no doubt
What joy then to reach in and pluck one
Your face still intact and recognizable
This act could conclude the length of life
The decision is not an individual one
But we know from what we are told
There is nothing to see here, folks
MOTHER
My mother had given birth a few months ago. I thought it
was odd, as she just turned sixty recently. I had not seen
her pregnant. But there it was in the room, all formed. A
baby boy. I didn’t know what his name was, only that she told
me I could have him, if I wanted, she didn’t really care. And
I told her I didn’t want him. And when I did, she picked him
up, and as she did this, I noticed at the back of his head, a third
grey eye. It had opened and blinked and then closed. She took
him to another room down the hall and I followed. Then, she
stumbled and fell, collapsed. I ran to her, to pick her up. Her whole
face was gone, peeled back, and her eyes weren’t even there. I
picked her up like she was my own child and held her. I was sorry
I wasn’t there sooner. And all this time, I did not think of that child.
The one with the third grey eye. I only thought of her now,
who she had been to me then, and if she would be that again.
MINUTE MAID POSTER
We used to have this poster on the wall. It was
an advertisement for Minute Maid. A row of
orange groves. It went on top of billboards
and was sealed inside the glass of bus shelters.
The poster gave my parents a different view
than the one we had from our window. We
had only snow and the exhaust pipe from a car
parked just outside. The poster never tore.
A kind of paper built for the weather here.
From far away, the blue in the sky and the green
on the ground looked uniform. Up close
they were made of a million little dots. The blue
was made of blue, but the green was of bits
of blue and yellow arranged on top of each other.
The yellow came first and then the blue. It was
the distant looking that brought them together,
that filled the space between them. This poster
was our future looking in on us, but we didn’t see.
We didn’t see how inside it would be my mother
picking oranges in that field. Her nails cut short
but dirt still found its
way there. And her hair
would feel like straw and half her face would sag from
a stroke. She says not to think on it too much,
she can’t taste anything on one side except bitterness.
SUNRISE WITH SEA MONSTERS
What had once been many shades of sun
and cloud and what we had predicted to have
a chance of is now. The face looking at us is
an outline floating in with two eyes and
a mouth. This face could be ours looking back
from some past we’re going toward or just an
expression trying to keep us out. Whatever it is
does not matter. Wanting to live does. If
it is saying something we can’t stop for it. If it is
reporting the future and says what’s happened
sew it shut and anchor it to sink and to stay sunk.
We were going before anyone could call us gone.
PREGNANT
In Lao, it is teu phaa
It means to hold a split, to hold a splitting, to carry around a split
Whatever you think you are or was, split
Not split open and broken away, but the split that is still hinged there, the
coming-apart that hadn’t caught on to anything to break off
To have never carried that split, to not know
What then do you know you have:
A sanding-down, a knowledge of repair and mechanic, how to keep wood
to wood
WE ALWAYS LIVED WITH MICE
My mother grabbed at them with her bare hands
Their heads looked the other way when she broke them
When I removed them from the traps I would stare
And try to remember each of their refined features
I checked the genitals, the shape of claws, the shade of fur
The one I remember the most didn’t die right away
It had a different shape, heavy in the middle, swollen teats
I thought of this one and what I did
All the ants ate poison from the tin in the corner of the bathroom walls
How the label said they would crawl back to the colony and explode
BROKERAGE REPORT I
An announcement is coming this afternoon.
Something about targeted closings, forecasts,
assuming of sales, royalty revenues, gross proceeds,
multiple metrics, range of approximation, land
holdings, future spending, and commitments.
Watch how rank can be stronger than peers. More
details will be provided at the closing of this transaction.
Defer any major decisions. Resume spending and
expansion. Deploy capital to improve physical
integration. Main concerns are related to potential use
of proceeds. Return to historical capital, ongoing
internal changes. There is an implied discount.
Proceeds and recommendation remain unchanged.
Continue to rank. Repeat. Buy. Press release.
BROKERAGE REPORT II
It’s robust. The complex dynamics
of a particular cycle. Prices can
move higher. Oil wells naturally
decline. Drill new wells. Concerns
have been raised. Released already
today. Proves to be correct. Robust.
In the long run. The pace is slower
than some investors would like.
Nevertheless a trend is encouraging.
The rest of the world. It’s robust.
Notwithstanding concerns. We do not
recommend aggressive weighting
at this time. In summary, given
the difficulty of predicting and time,
we do remain optimistic. A leader in
this space. The universe remains
the same. Robust. It’s robust.
Trends. The risks could be amplified.
SUMMER
Everything
is dying.
The assortment
of flowers
drooped to
their hanging.
The cherry tree
had no fruit
this year. The
walnuts fall
on our roof
every two minutes,
relentless,
without mercy.
The bees
don’t come
around. Our
neighbour
bought an urn
yesterday.
His wife
is off life
support. The
funeral has
been arranged.
WINTER
Everything
is alive
and in its
full bloom.
The daffodils
hold
their heads
high,
signalling
their value.
The snow
is gone. Bird
nests
made visible
by their
chirping.
The sun,
its horrible
hot light
unbearably
everywhere.
LAST DAY AT THE OFFICE
It was the potted plants that were
the first to go. Someone had been assigned
the task of watering them, and whoever
that was didn’t come around to do it,
and if there had been a replacement
it wasn’t listed as part of the job.
Then, it was the pens in the office
and the envelopes and metal-ringed notepads.
Someone was put in charge of buying
the supplies and stocking the drawer.
There are paperclips and staples at
least. Next, it was the window. You
could see across an alleyway to the side
of a Hilton Hotel. When it rained, the cement
got darker. And when the desks
were all moved to the fourth floor, where
there was no window at all, we were glad
for a door on a broken hinge. We
opened the door to keep our spirits up. The
cheques they gave us didn’t clear.
A stamp with “Insufficient funds” angled
across the amount it was made out for.
Finally, the last day there arrived. It was
obvious. There was a man sitting in
the lunchroom, belching. He didn’t bother
to apologize or excuse himself as if
all these years made us family now. In the
washroom stall, the ceiling was about to collapse.
There was a brown stain there, growing wide.
A broken pipe, a busted toilet. Someone
hadn’t seen to it by now. There had been
a custodian. He wore a grey uniform and smoked
near the front entrance during his breaks. He
was there when a woman got run over.
He took off his jacket and folded it neatly
under the woman’s head. He kneeled down
beside her to get her last word. Something
was said, but what that was between the two
of them I couldn’t know. We were all removed.
A SEAHORSE
moves
at its own dumb pace,
dancing
quietly
underneath
the ocean’s current, spinning
unalarmed
by what’s happening
or what’s happened
By all accounts,
there is
no record
for its rank
above
MY MOTHER GAVE ME
a photo album. There were a handful
of pictures and I am the same age
in every one. There i
s one photo of me
and my father on the day he taught me
how to ride my bike. We are laughing
and in the lower left corner is a small
boy sitting on a park bench watching us.
Cluster Page 1
