Christine Hume



In Plane View
                        A 12 Second Miracle Play by Thomas Merton


Man, grey shirted and crouching in cord wood: They do not understand how

Sister with an ulcered leg fearing teens will dig up the dead: They drag dull blue light
     from their world

Young Apaches racing to give the sun back to the sun: They skid anywhere to shift shores

The little boy also playing telephone in the barren air: Weariness is being ruled by
     them

The school bus of duck hunters, very voluble about their luck: A thunderbolt steers
     through them but they get over it

Like a city of shiny apartments, bourbon on the rocks: Their eyes pack and leave them
     with their stories

Buildings with smashed windows and leaning into shallow water: Clouds running
     through their voices rust whatever they say

Salmon turning red and dying in the shallows: Forty-two dieties issue from their hearts

The big silent boy who sits in the shadows of the kitchen in an army field jacket: They do
     not understand how friction embodies a person

Some boys killing lice with matches until they doze off: They can still smell the invisible
     place

Lovers watching night-wandering lizards believing them to be a sacred disease: First sea
     and of sea, half is earth half burner half bad

All the Sisters having mysteries that must be changed: They walk outside the noise of who
     they are

One Precious Blood Sister coming in with bangs: Be not terrified, not daunted thereby
     nor terrified

A dirty, busted mountain pulling the plane near: They brim with solitude and secret
     departures

The choppy mountain which held the undergrace of a last place: They hear a riot empty
     their heads

Dog mountain with steam curling out of the snow crater: They almost get over someone

Crooked mountaintop fretting its fretful salt away: Verging, they are what it has to
     do with

Birds clustering as if the trees hadn't been felled last year: You cannot pray with your
     mind

A carton of Pepsi cans break open and roll around under the feet of sailors: A
     volcano to which they say nothing



Do's and Don'ts About Fur
Airport Smoking Room

 

© 2002 Electronic Poetry Review