Ester Naomi Perquin

Heard today how even as children
they often longed for a town,
built towers along a muddy path
from what was strewn in yards, on ditch banks.

Not one had thought of grimy then,
of vastness all-too-grey in which
we lost tracks, walls
in which no hand yet cleared a view.
No one had yet pressed austere creases
into fronts of commercial leases.

All was still made of water and sand.
So low was the land that dreams
must reach high, the horizon had emptied away –
they stood and watched till the start of their day.

I can see him, silhouette of
a man in his bathroom window.
By that light he works on apace.

Rubs lather into his cheeks
and then with a razor
shaves the wolf from his face.

Do you like to rest during the day and at night make a man happy?
Do you feel depressed at the sight of lavender?
Have you ever thought of a hotel?

Delete: I am not a woman/I am a stupid woman.
In recent years I have felt regret at least
six times. What tends stick to my fingertips
is: gold leaf, paint, tomato juice.

You fit into a suitcase. If you do not fit into a suitcase
how would you describe yourself? How long have you
had weight problems? How often?

If you jump off a bridge, will you still try:
A) to pinpoint yourself on a map
B) to drift further and further off
C) to turn back halfway

Suppose your illness were an animal. If you’re healthy the question
counts double. What animal would you rather your illness were not?
N.B.: the bad days must be counted too.

Are you more frightened of the outcome than before?
State whose questions these are, according to you.

Oversized bird scrubbed clean by bristles thrusting
high up into the air and
hidden atop the cable, spare,
from which it must suspend this flight.

Concert of unidentified powers,
ruses of clandestine government.
Those girls with their cute skirts and hats?
Silence on board. Or else face the music.

Once aloft, the pressure is so low
all sense – how clumsy, how heavy,
how slow – of gravity is lost.
What is unknown won’t fall.

But who will pay the men whose job it is to pull
the clouds past the wings?
Who will wash their sky-blue overalls?