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Please Note

Due to budget constraints, the publication date for the 1st annual print edition of TFR has been changed from 11/27/03 to:

June 20th, 2004

Please feel free to contact me (sam@thefossil.com) if you have any questions or concerns regarding this change of schedule.

 

 

#24

 



Houses
 


first we found a little cave
stenciled our handprints on the wall
piled sticks, wove grass
lashed a few tusks together
made a peat covered arch
got out of the everpresent nature
where we could be a little warmer
let a flame catch our eyes
foregoing the horizon

hands that wove grass
learned to pat mud into bricks
we strolled sere streets in Mahenjo-Daro
scampered up the ladders in Catal Huyuk
held our rooms close, treasured the walls
for saying this, this is inside, this is mine, that, that is outside,
that is everything else, outside

we hung herbal charms on the lintel
kept the outside
out

step quickly now through arches,
basilicas, cathedrals - gothic race
to the sky - watch rivers turn to aqueducts, see
the gargoyle's stern whimsy
dissipate in rococo excess that crashes
on slack-eyed, stiffjawed bauhaus planes
like the faceless streets of ancient towns

someone sits in a cubicle
cradled in a skyscraper
someone watches the computer box
sighs as the screen saver slides through
tropical island scenes
lush green palm trees
turquoise water cradling
white white beaches
someone makes mouth noise about wanting to be there
where pelicans
swoop near topaz waterfalls
and cockatoos march right up
demand the coconut in your hand
where the air is hot and crawls
down the side of your nostrils
where animals never met Disney
and bugs put their many feet
right on your sleeping lips

forgetting that when you go
you must move with care -
blood draws gnats whose delight
is crawling in and out of wounds
forgetting - when you go -
fleas lurk on the beach to bite your ankles
forgetting - when you go -
coral waters reward a careless cut
with alarming pain
forgetting the unrelieved dark jungle night
the logs that float like crocodiles, the thin sharp
teeth in leeches

forgetting - when you go -
very soon you will find yourself
fashioning a hut of fronds
with a flap to catch a night breeze
a floor of woven sea-grass
you will catch yourself
hanging a seashell over the door
with charms to keep
the outside
out
where it belongs.


 

—Elise Bowditch