Strings Attached

Origami Pantoum

60 Origami Pantoum If I fold a book of poetry to hang on the wall, tuck the corner of a page into the crease, fold the top of the next just the same way, will the words fall out as I walk by? Fold the corner of a page into the crease where Lehman’s sky crumbles, a million paper dots, will the words fall out, hang in the air, float into Li-Young’s wife’s braided hair? Lehman’s sky crumbling, a million paper dots changing the season from autumn to winter, floating in Li-Young’s wife’s braided hair like a thousand cranes landing on Oliver’s branches. Changing the season from autumn to winter, Whitman sings songs amid cold leaves of grass, a thousand cranes gather on Oliver’s branch, she’s lonely as a lover who’s decided to leave. Whitman sings songs amid cold leaves of grass, Stevens sees a blackbird only half a dozen ways. Lonely as a lover who’s decided to leave, Basho’s like a butterfly bereft on the moor. Stevens sees a blackbird only three ways now, something Chekhovian is happening here, Basho is dreaming on a steep, withered moor, Neruda’s saddest line runs into his happiest. Something Chekhovian is happening here, fanning this poem into form’s measured call, will Neruda’s saddest line find Dunn’s Happiness, if I fold a book of poetry to hang on the wall? ...