REQUIEM FROM AN OFFICE
..........after Japan, 3/11/2011
I type numbers for thirteen
dollars an hour and sit in a black
chair for eight hours. Glass
cloth covers my eyes. Cold
sand fills my bones. A graveyard
on the hill is burning.
After the earthquake, a fisherman
runs to the fire. He carries
a clarinet and yells to me,
What else do you want?
I stab
the calculator with scissors.
They slice my skin. Veins
overflow. White ashes fall on the granite
floor. I smell of my singed eyelids. A tsunami
pushes the flaming tombstones and boats.
Under the crescent moon, the fisherman
plays a clarinet concerto. He vibrates
his reed. In the ocean breeze, he inhales
human dust. I open
my eyes. I want
lights
and then more lights.
..........after Japan, 3/11/2011
I type numbers for thirteen
dollars an hour and sit in a black
chair for eight hours. Glass
cloth covers my eyes. Cold
sand fills my bones. A graveyard
on the hill is burning.
After the earthquake, a fisherman
runs to the fire. He carries
a clarinet and yells to me,
What else do you want?
I stab
the calculator with scissors.
They slice my skin. Veins
overflow. White ashes fall on the granite
floor. I smell of my singed eyelids. A tsunami
pushes the flaming tombstones and boats.
Under the crescent moon, the fisherman
plays a clarinet concerto. He vibrates
his reed. In the ocean breeze, he inhales
human dust. I open
my eyes. I want
lights
and then more lights.