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| donna vitucci |  | 1. At the Office She lays her heavy heart down, as in horizontal, bent-in-half body continuing the fold, this collapse. She rests her face on the desk her cheek on the wood, the phone monstrous and quiet and black, on her eye and her eye on it, full vision phone. Belly roll and belly roil, her heart frantic, then half dead the back and forth adrenalin nearly punching out her lights. Her heart slips back to half its weight, half its drum. It knows what it wants-- triage, the knife and the needle. 2. Song for the New Year If the sea laps at our feet, it is you who have brought us here. You know love is not an ark. Among a pair, one may want something the other doesn't care to give while the stars burn deeper and the fabric of the sky yields to their heat. What do you understand that no one else does? Blood and peaches, blood and peaches. Remove your hat when you speak, be seated, shove off your shoes at the door to spare the rug. Who knows the history you bring here? We are not mind readers, and while our talents spur us a few feet ahead of where we want to be, knowledge catches up as only knowledge can. His singing through a wet handkerchief saved the lot of us-- His singing and his heart on the strings. The mind bosses the body of each sign painter, fortune teller, lawman, thief. Look at the children and other small folk, their tiny hands withdrawn from tiny pockets to wave at the stars and curly headed babies in wonder, in wide-eyed wonder. Your head on my shoulder, my love, with your head on my shoulder, call the world new and you could hardly call it better. | |
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