Summer 1990 • Vol. XII No. 3 Poetry |

Indentations in the Sugar

As they have no difficulty with walls, Neither do they have the services of a table, So the dead do not stay Longer than twenty minutes, The time taken to make coffee Midmorning. Sometimes finding a broken cup, We remember them, through the years Their eyeglasses grown thicker, A preparation for the long Look from there to here, So small things like cups Up close are hard to handle. And they do look, Our features bending and parting In the fat manner of that circus Mirror in front of which we all stood Our turn, making two-foot mouths. Sometimes the glasses are not thick enough: By accident they walk through us To get to the other side of the kitchen, Imagining they have a small need,Putting a hand through ours Reaching for a stirring spoon. For us it is bursitis or the thrill Feel of coolness. The twenty-minute visits are finally A courtesy of the centuries, And they are impatient to go. They shake their heads about things. It's this kitchen, they say;   The spoons are not good

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