Jumping on the Dead Kitten bandwagon. And why not?

The Kitten by Mary Oliver

More amazed than anything
I took the perfectly black
stillborn kitten
with the one large eye
in the center of its small forehead
from the house cat's bed
and buried it in a field
behind the house.

I suppose I could have given it
to a museum,
I could have called the local
newspaper.

But instead I took it out into the field
and opened the earth
and put it back
saying, it was real,
saying, life is infinitely inventive,
saying, what other amazements
lie in the dark seed of the earth, yes,

I think I did right to go out alone
and give it back peacefully, and cover the place
with the reckless blossoms of weeds.


Reverse poem of Mary Oliver's The Kitten

The Tiny Dump Truck

More listless than anything,
I push the lively yellow dump truck
with two small working headlights
on either side of its mechanical face
from the empty lot next door
and raise it on the mound of rotten carpet
behind the C-Town grocery store.

I don't think about taking it from
the garbage heap or telling the bulbous boy
who lives on the other side of the Bronx.

But instead I try to leave it out on the wasted pile
then, as the air closes about it,
I take it back

not saying whether it is real
or whether death is so mass-produced
and regular as this
not saying what other finite boredoms
rise from the prow of the garbage barge, no,

I don't think about whether I did wrong
to clench my hands together with the cheap
mechanical Mattel smile
and finally, hold it to my heart to keep, violently,
in that place at the foot of my bed
with its careful collection of smells.

______

Seems almost like a parody, don't it?

Have a peek in my bedroom. It will never look as good as it does in the picture again. The moment has passed.

I'm still on the fence about whether I should get the brown and blue circle curtains that perfectly match the room. They're 200 dollars.

Nother Reverse Poem

From one of Strand's. Might be... "The mountain"? I can't remember... I'm too busy to keep track of these things! shut up!

The Valley

You have backed into this with your own arms,
finding the airplane, finding the stubborn mule,
descending always, one hand behind the other,
that is the way to unbraid it.

It does not please you, the way the valley stops,
paper in the air, a bike sighing its silver spokes.
Look here, the longer you stand still, the closer
you are to nothing.

One hand behind the other. The years stop.
One hand behind the other. The seconds stop.
The smells of departure appear.
That is the way to unbraid it.

Hey! the wonderful and smutty Desiree Burch has a blog. She's like a cosmo woman: fun, fabulous, fearless, funky, and she likes to say "fucker" a lot. Plus she lives down the street from me.