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| anastasia andersen |  | 1. slitting the wrists of the old astronomy force the night out of its robes shave its head clean when you send it into the city rename the constellations: the bottle 'n cork mobil's pegasus and the big red lobster are best seen out of the car window if you're ten years old looking into the void- the permanent cobalt now hammered into place unhinge your scopes! nothing will fall into the dreams of a boy sleeping under the new astronomy light is the quick sheet that covers the dead, the slow bead of dust its stars leaking toward the corner of the eye. 2. Van Leeuwenhoek He prefers the smallest intimacy Of peering into her brittle canyons Epithelial slough clinging To her pink blouse and bed sheets. His wife is nothing like the structure of her Soft tissues under a microscope. The strand of weedy grass and follicles Plump, when he sets down her sickle Fingernail moon-like over the field Of vision turned upside down. When he tries to pull his wife closer She moves farther away. So he looms like any old god Peeping goodnight through an eyepiece Distance makes his heart grow. 3. Flowers. In bad times The fishmonger takes a second job as florist. The catch of the day is monkfish and violets siliconed into rigor and waterless crystal on display. There's mottled grouper-esque lilies imported from Asia somewhere set on ice, a black iris tossed in with the mussels half-open and still sucking air. A man runs in from the rain and reaches for a bouquet of carnations the dark pink of tuna on baby's breath white flowers as if a pillow of vinegared rice. Instead he grabs the cellophane wrapped daisies red as angry octopus pulled from a bucket, He quotes to the fishmonger: Thy fingers make early flowers of all things... The fishmonger suggests some vodka in the vase so they'll last a good long time. | |
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