The Unrepeatable Cloud

Somewhere, a silence of walls falling
dividing the skies. Prone. No need to see
the blue reflected in the brown grass to know

that the clouds are fickle and carry only rumours.
Don’t look around. Don’t look up.
Divination is inexact, not even a science.

Only the messenger in the cloud knows
how she lost her voice and how she let
the thunder become her ventriloquist.

Clearing the Air

After the untimely death
there were priests
five of them sitting on chairs
and not one purifying fire
between them.

Their chants were hard stones
spit out into the air
their feet churned keeping
the words up and moving
like threats

or curses: once pronounced
their import
set in stone.
“This place is cleansed
of death.

Here are the mustard seeds
you asked for
in proof.
Be content now.
And live as if nothing had happened.”

The Plastic Bag Feels Fear

Pinned against the wall
arms akimbo
head and feet
slapping and shivering
against the fall

a garbage bag doll
brought to life
by the smell of fear
coming from the kitchen’s
rotating door.