Читать книгу Northwood - Maryse Meijer - Страница 9

THE HIEROPHANT

I’d only been away

for a day no city no

sky I recognized, how full it was,

the hard stars so cold-shouldered

blinking You are alone,

Only not quite:

there was the stream, after all, and the trees,

and ants relentless over the counters,

the foxes fucking their way through the evenings

their screams so human it chilled me,

high slaughterhouse sound

whistling in every direction.

I could not get the fire started and the floors had no carpets

and the boots I brought had a hole in them and the dew

came through.

I went out to the porch and put my head against the post.

I knew what a car was. I knew

convenience stores and dollar hot dogs and coffee

that appeared

when my money appeared and the phone ready to ring

and the traffic like the sea

lapping the concrete coast of the sidewalk,

24 hours, something always open.

I wanted to get away and I was away

and there was that sky that seemed to say, You know nothing.

I took my pencils out, my paper, my ink.

The rough table was short on one leg and when I drew

it rocked from one side to the other.

Moths flew from the cabinets.

I had never been in love.