Before the Celebration

published in Salt River Review

once there was a little world

waiting to be mended.


dimming light and the hour’s hoax

of perfect timing.


a life-sized dummy


rotating on a flat earth, struck by pins and the busy scissors

of the seamstress, quick,

what was her name?


a chart of the earth’s surface

was the body’s,

tailored to changing measurements,

each year look ma, I’ve



then there was a rip

so final.


a rip. maybe only a pinpoint split --

and darkness falling swiftly.


such dead stillness,

and the dummy tilting elsewhere, waiting to be lit.