22

Saturday night in cars, wally wally, under dim lights
In new places slowly slip back into these old patterns
Face to face we remain, eyes heavy with strain under dim lights
Crawl up on the couch, trying to separate word from word

Five hours of paint, perfume, and fabric
All day spent indoors, try and try, think ahead, start planning
In the corner underneath dim lights feel sixteen again
Time moves so quickly and so do we but some places freeze

On couches, add up the years spent staring ahead, blinking
When do the days lose their meaning, when do we stop caring
How much trying is there until we grow tired of it
Is it a steady decline, a slowing of breathing

Is it a rest or is it a breaking down of will?
Isn't it true that life can (could/will) be beautiful?
-KM

In 1989, my parents purchase a gray van.
Second-hand it sits in our unpaved driveway
with a brown strip along its side.
There are two doors in the front.

Only one door that slides,
it makes a whoosh noise.
Once it took my finger from me
for a few exhilarating seconds.

And in the backseat at age four
I would watch my legs spread out.
Puzzled that they
could become a cushion around me.

In 1996, the fabric falls away from the ceiling
making erasable constellations.
-Hannah

21

in 21 days 100ft from seashore

there will be no:

electricity

running water

telephone

candles

there will be:

time for long days

drawing

letters

trips to town

swimming

time to

devote

-Hannah

behind two doors side by side
play once, then repeat as necessary
the initial work is just a scratch
a framework meant to guide

three people, five tracks
three days in the same room
cans stacked tall
neighbors come by to complain

nervously listening in the next room
disappointed over time
worried about how the future will unfold
smiles kindly with some sadness beneath it

try again until its just right
steadily the beat plays on
-KM

20

outside the trees are budding

and bulbs have risen

snow bells hang down

as daffodils look up

now, it is cold as it

should be in February

making it hard to breathe

and walk into the wind

but here

at the end of the day

in yellow light

I'm glad to be

soon trees will leaf out

neon greens

-Hannah

Seventy years from now we will not be
Over-drinking, nor staying up too late,
Waiting for something to happen, we shall
Wake up early, with a goal in our minds
Something we can look forward to

Basements filled with artificial heat and
Artificial light shining down
We never know what time to call it quits
We never quite know when to say goodnight
After a day like today, world's a snowglobe

Hold hands down the street, arm in arm in arm
Let's not face the anger, let's be happy
-KM

19

from the other side of the apartment

a scream in the kitchen

with a small heart, that hums

with one ear smaller than the other

half the body, sealed

tail in the wispy end of the letter Y

one leg stretched out

then the oil pours down

a slick struggle and many minutes

has found freedom with plastic sides

in the cold night under yellow lamps

eager to get out

then paralyzed in open space

in the middle, carried on a leaf, left to rest

-Hannah

Up so high, no center of gravity
The skeleton has four points touching earth
Metal bars keep contents captive
Despite attempts, balance cannot be found

Three times four is twelve plus four is sixteen
Lined up one two three, the fourth on its side
One thin cotton cord to stetch around, pinch, pull taut
Transported behind doors, kept in darkness

Unsteady yet they never fell over
Such a small space to pace about
Move less, quiet down, stand tall
Finally the gate is drawn open

Calmly returned, with few pieces missing
No one even even missed them

-KM