|
THREE POEMS
by Reamy
Jansen
The Danger of Fire
found
poem, Virginia Center for the Creative Arts
[click
to see larger version of image]
as
you may know
the mt. san angelo mansion
was destroyed by fire
at the time
it served
as the fellows residence
despite
efforts
by the volunteer fire department
our beautiful home
burned to the ground
fortunately
no one
was injured
but we all
suffered a great deal
fellows lost most
of their belongings
as well as
treasured paintings
musical scores
and manuscripts
it was
twenty-seven
months before
we were able
to complete construction
and
during that time
everyone lived
in their studios
everyone
who
has lived
through a fire
knows how devastating
it can be
since
we lost
our mansion
there have been
some close calls:
burners have been left
unattended
on kitchen stoves
fireplace ashes
have been put
in cardboard boxes
candles have burned carpets
plugged in
coffee pots
have shorted out
on several
occasions
had not
lady luck
intervened
we might
have lost
the barn
or
the Residence
again
everyone
must
be careful
smoking is not
allowed
in the Residence
you may smoke
in the barns
but please be cautious
never turn on a burner
and go elsewhere
do not attempt to remove
hot ashes
from the fireplace
no candles are ever allowed
except
in the dining room
under constant
supervision
if you
observe any carelessness by others
please warn them
take action yourself
if necessary!
The danger
of fire is always with us.
thank
you
FIN
It could be No. 651
or thereabouts
like the county route it's not
ending you know where
but the number's probably
not that low
More
likely I'm now deep into
the 700s
and only lately have really tried
keeping count when it's
already too late
and I must
have missed some before
But to
my notice they have come more
often one every few days
the numbers piling up feeling
geometric now although
the cut's nothing as Plath's in her kitchen death's domus
for her
I'll just pick up a page and the paper's
edge will sink right in like a fin
as if my fingers were all tallow and nerves
then the blood writing back
not having to leave
a forwarding address
They
seem, the cuts that is, to come
only from pages
I've written
the impress of another's words will not do
They
bleed for sure the cut so sure
so dedicated towards your, well,
let's be honest, my, end,
lucky/unlucky one thousand
1000
And you
sometimes don't notice
the wound for a while
the sting arriving later,
as stings do, when
you're groping for a coin or keys or
a pencil in your pocket
and
you still can't do the math
B & E
When
the three Dominican maids barged in
who cared for a door so broken as
this
kicked in by vice, cursing tatooed
boyfriends
weeping
homicidal husbands
Surprised
in attendance
I couldn't make a sound
my lips sealed to yours
The noise then all theirs
mops, brooms, vacuum
hose cockeyed metronomes
swinging wildly entering
banging in sudden retreat
Ay, senor,
pardon...
a kind closing of the ravaged door
giggles fading, our pleasures
loosening only for a moment
then the sure click
of the lock's
tongue
going home
to mortise
And,
you, in our perfect vacuum,
you said the syllable, too, aye,
only higher
hand and forehead smoothing
the fabric
of the rough wall, ay
aye
Later,
facing each other
we could say it
together
Reamy
Jansen is a contributing editor to The
Bloomsbury Review of Books. His work has appeared in The Literary
Review, The Minnesota Review, Oasis, The Evansville
Review, The Higginsville Reader, among others. |
