I try to
do a New Thing, I
wind up
remembering some Old Thing—
cold grapes, perhaps
to chill the mouth and mind—first,
so-arranged on a plastic-
wrapped disposable
plate by some invisible hand,
then—warm, caterpillar-
yellow, on the vine
across the alley from mom's
girlhood backyard, brown hens in noon
sun carousing nearby;
sun carousing nearby;
thus, I transcend
space and time. But only
in a way that's useless and benign: only
inadvertently, only in reverse
and backwards.
and backwards.