Someday

“Getting arrested is the most exciting thing of all,” she pronounces. They are funny-looking, funny bodies dressed in funny clothes: they are Writers

To cry at the drop of a hat a river of all the sad terrible beauty
He without eyebrows and a teeny teeny head a terrible sad beauty

We never saw the cracks in the floor
all
the
way
down
the
hallway
and they multiply the further one looks
between numbers and elements and forces
all the way down

and there’s movement behind me 3 sparrows perched on the scaffolding peer in expectantly, and up, and fly up.
High up around the stone church are sparrows always sparrows around the high stone walls St Francis crawled out the window

Last night the hook on the rope swung in the storm winds, out and back toward the window, out and back, alive by an invisible hand high up that scaffold
Even she knows flat roofs leak.

She knows that flat roofs leak
She thinks she’s too dumb to see seven stars in the sky, with names she’s never heard
She mops your floor and carries your greasy napkins and banana peels to the dumpster in her hands.
They want to take away the days of her vacation
And she is angry.
Then she sighs walking to the door, “Maybe Someday...” as if it were a golden hall in heaven.
The aroma of alcohol pools and drifts…...her helpmate, her co-worker….drifts and pools

Night air is heavy and holds much sound; nothing between me and the night air and the night sounds: katydids, crickets, train whistles coming and going sometimes two at once

Delivering the money to pay out because it hurts someone, carrying the water over the wires, over the roads, over the postal river, paying out, playing out because it hurts

Stories of what it feels to die in the hot desert every cell cries and you fold your clothes

I am afraid the speaker is going to catch afire
until I find a switch

Hearing Voices
Matamoras Banks

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