Let’s make things
miniature
so we
can die.
so our tiny souls can use the tiny skillet
and the tiny slaves may obey us,
and the balance beam for routines,
let’s make tiny shoes
so we can die and be shod
(The soul is small and hard to find.)
Let us make tiny grenades
and a footstool
and a canned ham and
a lamp
so that our wee selves
have comforts.
Let us be still and
project outlines of souls
into these
Let us imagine ourselves
in boxes, matchboxes, marble ones,
Let us imagine ourselves
inflammable as Meshak and Abendago
Let us have Barbie-sized shoes poured.
And elfin tables to put
across our laps
that we may write with chickadee quills
And call out in crumbs of voice,
I was here, I lived this way.
I lived.
Let’s make ourselves
homes away from home,
graineries, fences, eggs, chariots,
Let’s make ourselves at home.
The spirit is young and easily lost.
Let us breathe smaller breaths
to save them
Let us become polka-dot
sized, snack sized, charm
sized, as small as
a grape
a joke
Let us see the jewel
of a poor man’s ring
three months’ salary
from which there was really
nothing left
Let us see it as a sun
Let us be one gold bead
on a braid
of a horse
in Rome
falling off as
horse shakes proudly,
soldiers progress,
in the last victory
march.
Let us have forks made,
pine needles welded
Maybe they won’t make us go?
In this room we will put it,
seal the door, stamp it:
official
our souls will know where the cracks are,
will be,
Though we could roam, grow, to the entirety
of space,
we will want a home
and we willl
get in.
Going On 