Trans

Insomnia III

Insomnia III He has a tumor in his brain that much weknow - andhe's the father of four children, the oldest fourteen. Therefore this morning of sun so bright we're asked to draw the shades, let us praise the brain in its bone pan. All night as I bow to the boom box changing tapes, the electrical cord between my ears carries a charge to respect, adjust awayfrom the fleshy thorax, over my head to rest safely where it belongs, if it can be said to rest anywhere naturally, on my skull. O disordered self, to requiredistraction all night, stories poured intheporch ear for example, news of the man who counts the angel residue of birds broken onourpicture windows in order to obliterate the polite rustle the possum makes with her babes through the laundryyard to home under the shed. And to miss atfive exactly, this spring season, first bird song with first light... O untrustworthyself filledwith appropriateterror of tumor and broken wings, consider flight, not the swollen plague tongue in the sore mouth, but story. 56 Or the possum herself, laden, twentieth generation of her family, in residence still in our yard, how in spite of ghosts and grief I know exactly- how?- herpath under the empty clothesline. 57 ...