Open the Connections, She Says
Cords of wood, lines of concrete, aluminum
slats covering new houses. Mortar
crossing pavement and cobblestone, endless
bricks raising, connections of lawn and mansion.
was a new skyscraper; Chicago
at night. Sunglasses on the dancefloor.
Now she throws food on the ground for a cat.
The cat finds a dog and gums his tail.
doors all over the house,
opens windows and the house breathes
like the soil connected to the crop.
She says, let the dust dance
in the shotgun
beams. Her chair, her needle, wool,
she says, are only objects now. Her garden
inhales damp air at night, exhales
the day. Watch the shore, she says,
is a lung. Watch the garden
from the atmosphere of the roof. She used
to sit in the club wearing sunglasses, watching
the cats connect with dogs. She used to rock
on her chair connecting wool to wool.
she had to open her house,
connect it to the dry air, the soil.
Had to bury her dog to help flowers grow.
she watches his crucifix and tries
to see God where wood connects to wood.