MiPOesias

CAFE' CAFE' EDITION

 

ISSN 1543-6063

 


Courtney J. Campbell

non!

marcel marceau with your bouquet of flowers shouting
and your birds in deep thought
your birds are always thinking marcel marceau
and your moustache is always
singing edith piaf songs in throaty french
from a sidewalk or
from a silk hat or
from a subway bench
marcel marceau with your garrulous strut
and your frozen to and fro
and your vase
and your window ledge

 

or like a toaster

some things are like an ironing board
or buying an ironing board
or selling an ironing board
or stealing an ironing board
or falling in love with an ironing board
that opens and closes and just stands there
while you're shaking that
gets all jammed up when you're in
a hurry to go out on the weekend
that collapses with the slightest bit
of pressure. a new ironing board.
an old ironing board. a first ironing board.
a third ironing board. an ironing
board from a yard sale that reminds
you of broomsticks and square dancing.
some things are just that – exactly
like an ironing board. some
things are exactly like anything.


a small window over the sink

there you are against a wall
one moment you lean
the next you slide down – leather
against brick.
sometimes
you are next to a wall
next to a wall then behind it.
sometimes
you are a spider
on a wall. you crawl up like a
cobweb. you unite two
that aren't even there. – an
invisible corner and a few loose
strings.
against a wall
next to a wall
over a wall
under a wall
between two walls that you have never seen.
sometimes
you look in the mirror and say
today i will jump over it.
sometimes
you look in the wall and say
who are you anyway?
sometimes
you spread across asia and
it is greener than you remember it.
or you stand in a cornfield and
creak in the night.
or you sit on a sidewalk to
bare your graffiti.
a wall to guard a border.
a wall to hang finger paintings.
a wall in a kitchen with a
small window over the sink.
the sun is on you.
it is morning.
it is late afternoon.
you smell coffee.
you smell tea.
it is a familiar voice that
brushes against you.
it is spring or
it is breakfast.
there is a mug on a table -
soft like a corner.

 

 

Courtney J. Campbell is a graduate of the University of Michigan-Flint and was a Peace Corps volunteer in the Paraguayan Chaco. She has lived in Recife, Pernambuco, Brazil since 2003, where she is currently an English teacher and a graduate student in the Master´s program in Theory and History of Education at the Universidade Federal de Pernambuco. Her poetry and essays have been published in online and print media. Several of her poems will be in the upcoming book anthology Zygote Abstract by Red Pulp Fiction and others were recently featured in From East to West: Bicoastal Verse. She serves on the editorial boards of Socialist Women and The Socialist, both official publications of the Socialist Party USA.

 
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