venus waning/apollo waxing his car

Matthew Rohrer

 
Then there was the night I decided that if I ignored everyone
I would transcend,
so I covered my ears with my hands,
stepped off the porch and rose like a wet crow
and the sprinklers chattered to each other over the fences.
And "How long will you be gone?" my neighbor called nervously,
my neighbor whose saw I had borrowed,
and "Come down right now!" my landlord called out,
climbing to the roof of his Cadillac to reach me
as he got smaller and smaller.
And there I was with the stars hanging above my house like live wires
and the night sky the color of stockings.
I stuck out my tongue to taste the sky
but could not taste.
I inhaled deeply
but could not smell.
I used to look to the sky for comfort
and now there was nothing, not  even a seam,
and I looked down and saw that it did not even reach the ground.
And my only company was the satellites counting their sleep
and the Sorrowful Mother swinging her empty dipper in the darkness,
the Sorrowful Mother picking her way through the stars over my roof.
And I knew I was nowhere and if I ever took my hands from my ears
     I would fall.
 
From A Hummock in the Malookas, by Matthew Rohrer, published by W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. Copyright © 1995 by Matthew Rohrer. Reprinted by permission of W. W. Norton & Company, Inc.

Poems by This Author

After Catullus by Matthew Rohrer
If you, Tom, could see this inflight video map
Credo by Matthew Rohrer
I believe there is something else
Epithalamium by Matthew Rohrer
In the middle garden is the secret wedding
Garden of Bees by Matthew Rohrer
The narcissus grows past
Jangling by Matthew Rohrer and
Money cannot find me
Monkeys by Matthew Rohrer and
In another jungle the monkeys fret
Moss Retains Moisture by Matthew Rohrer and
Pavilion of Leaves by Matthew Rohrer
Central Park in a
Poem by Matthew Rohrer
You called, you’re on the train, on Sunday
Ski Lift to Death! by Matthew Rohrer
It was a basement with its own basement,
The Emperor by Matthew Rohrer
She sends me a text
will the red hand throw me? by Matthew Rohrer
Though our radiator is painted the color of the walls