Academic journal article Antipodes

Overhead

Academic journal article Antipodes

Overhead

Article excerpt

As the clouds pass on,

my ceiling warms, expanding in the sun;

the pinewood fibers sing of xylem and phloem

in the flat half-notes of wooden birds

as if the passed-down cuckoo clock had lost its wits.

Memory's tapping from another room

like children in an attic playing ghosts-

that tiptoe creak, a death tick

from an older house (D sharp, F minor):

grandfather hammering in a nail,

grandmother clicking her thimble on the scissors,

stitches across worn time.

Now a laugh's staccato run, quick steps on gravel,

the whap of a tennis ball

and a crackling in the grate as the fire purrs-

they've no idea I'm gone.

All the littlest labors of rift and join

are holding my now, my then,

in this honeywood sky under the fitful sun.

I am learning world-word,

silence cradling touch:

needle-thin, the solitaries dance,

a snap of castanets, toy sounds

that make the moment home

as climbing to the attic hallowed the stair. …

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