Everything in the universe has this shape
You don’t have to see it for yourself for it to be true
This letter is the shape of a tennis ball
At Wimbledon during play the tennis ball always bounces
It gets caught up in the net or hits the side of a racket
There’s always a count to keep
In Laos, a child wanted to play with a ball
He found one buried in the ground
It did not bounce
He took it home to his family
Everyone turned out inside
The thing did what it didn’t do before
It bounced
Nothing happens if you’re lucky
Foraging for dinner
Harvesting the next cycle of crops
Walking or digging
Disturbing ground
This is how you lose an arm or leg
All of it
You can’t eat metal
But this is the new cash crop
More than forty years ago, it had been planted
Designed and seeded to clear the trail
“There are no American combat forces in Laos”
You don’t have to declare a war for there to be one
You could say it never happened
Who would know
We move through fragments every day and we live
A fragment isn’t the whole of a thing
But it doesn’t need to be
It’s enough to be an open
An open that opens something inside and never closes itself up again
This summer a dam collapsed in Laos
The area of detail is marked with a little o
Missing is the view of a human face on that map
Over 6,600 were displaced and hundreds more were still missing
A company dispatched rescue and emergency relief
One helicopter and 11 boats
It was a billion-dollar project
They were worried about personnel
A few ambulances streaked by
We are told an investigation is underway
A dam collapsed
We already know about the failure of structure
But they want to study it now
They want to study dam standards and dam safety
While people scramble to higher ground
Wait on rooftops and trees stranded on slopes
The weather, we are told, is an obstacle
And authorities are looking for mattresses
There is an effort to rescue
Repeated phone calls go unanswered
An expert on Laos from the University of Wisconsin
Was brought in to comment
His word was quoted by The New York Times
The experts on Laos
Are those who live there
In the house abandoned and turned on its side
On the oxen half-hidden in knee-deep water
There was no warning, they said
Just someone calling “The water is coming”
The water is coming
It was there
Every eight minutes, 24 hours a day, 260 million rained down
80 million failed to explode
The war is over we are told
Troops have been sent home
The groundwork remains
Proving there is no such thing as time
It doesn’t respect or forgive or lessen anything
A decision was made a long time ago
The carrying-out crops up
And you move it to the side of the field or plant around it
Fashion it into a metal necklace
Use as stilts for homes or a table lamp
“Best Detroit steel” is the uptick trend
One man tossed it into a basket on his back
The ball-bearings it threw out went through his chest
An aim and target chosen years ago
The still-centre of a spin
The smallest unit of ordinary matter
Indivisible until it is
Meaning
It can happen with so little
It can take a long time to arrive
Years even if ever
It’s possible meaning doesn’t mean anything
And that is its meaning
Meaning doesn’t give you clarity
Clarity isn’t meaning
Clutter and garbage can have meaning
The cleaning-up that needed to be done
Left for someone else to take care of
Someone who has nothing to do with its meaning
But will do the work to mean
Whatever happens to meaning
It is always there
Orbiting a set path
Attached and revolving
A quiet hum behind a wall
It means something even if you don’t want it
And when you want it
It doesn’t matter how voluminous
It doesn’t mean at all
THERE ARE NO PHOTOGRAPHS OF ME
In all the photographs
you took
I’m
not there
I managed
to get out
before
the flash
Sometimes
there was my foot
or splash
of black hair
You’d point
to that
and say
it was me
that
I had been there
but who could say
that’s true
I am looking
at the photographs
you have
now
I’m not there
and
I haven’t been there
for years
I can see
the frame
of the
photograph
I can see further
than that
I can see
outside
this frame
the looking on
NORTH
It’s the direction a compass is always pointing
The part of a map that shows a view of the world
It’s still there pointing when you’re upside down
Wind speed is a fundamental atmospheric quantity
Changes in temperature are a determining factor
Look for the sun and track where it rises and sets
Tell from the shape your shadow casts for you
It will matter to know where you are and when
You might need all these days or hours to count
You will never be more alone following this point
Some place you haven’t been yet rotating past
Wherever you are you aren’t there even when you are
A SPIDER
made
this
It hadn’t been
damaged
and if it had been,
it was built back
over night
Over and over
from some small
dark pit,
it spun out
a whole world
for itself
Nothing
could come close
and even in its brevity
it will outlast
our dim little buildings
NAVY-BLUE CASHMERE
I saw a dead man by the side of the road. I stopped
To look at him. I had never seen one up close like this.
He did not look dead. There was no blood, no scene
Of accident. Maybe he fell from somewhere, run over
By a passing car. I wanted to touch him, to feel what
Being dead felt like, but I did not. There was no one
Around to see him, to call to gather for him. Nothing
But my own feeling. I spoke like I had been loved
For man
y years, like he had been mine. And then, I
Went on, walked around the body, left the burying.
I would see one just like him out on the lake again.
Alone and swimming. A head bobbing to the surface.
GLITTER
You
can cover
it all
up
in
this stuff
if
you want
We both
know
what’s
beneath
that
glitter
None
of this
was
ever gold
or could
ever be
Little
plastic flecks
shining
only
in close
proximity
To get by
you’ll
have to
agree
not
to see
what you
have
and you
agree
until
there’s gold
Face
to face
you admit
you can’t
make
anything
come
close to that
It was
there
before you
and
what
it took
to get
gold
like that
well, let me tell
you
don’t have
to make
it do
a thing
at all
to shine
COST
The squirrel
is dead
Its eye
sockets
have been
filled in
with green
glass beads,
Four little paws
frozen
in pose, and
a fluffed-up tail
Next to other
stuffed animals
arranged in bright
cartoon colours,
fabric pocked
with balls of lint,
plastic mouths
glued open,
laughing,
all in
on some joke
they’ve told
The squirrel
isn’t laughing,
a cost
of the matter
of having been
real once
ART
Across
the street
from the
museum
there is
someone
making
bubbles.
He has an
old mop
with two
dirt-filled
strings.
He holds
the mop
high, waves
it above
his head,
cleaning.
A bubble
the size
of a human
body
blisters
and grieves
out of air.
None of us
can climb
inside
and be
carried off.
All of us
watch
each one
float away.
He must
have made
thousands
that day,
but there is
no proof
of any
having been
made
except those
of us who
saw it,
the foam on
the ground,
dishwashing
liquid
dripping from
high-pitched
trees.
A PLASTIC BEAR
tried
to eat me
the other
night
Its jaw
came
apart,
a sad
attempt
at a loud
roar
was made
I suppose
I should
be scared
but
I reached out
to it,
to feel
up
the dark
there
It occurred
to me
the thing
didn’t
have
a body
I knew then
it couldn’t stomach
or keep
the spine
I splintered
to be here
BLOWFISH
My parents took us to Florida.
St. Petersburg, Florida.
We drove there in our blue Toyota van.
1990 was a good year for us but we didn’t know then.
There’s a photograph of all of us inside King Kong’s fist.
I am in the middle.
We were supposed to pretend we were all dying but I am at the centre as
still as ever.
My mom is smiling the way you do when someone takes your picture. She
was not someone who pretended anything.
My father leans out all dramatic.
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