"... seven years until the body renews its aimless cells ..."


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Ms. Grinnell


Claudia Grinnell reads "Doing Hard Time"

Claudia Grinnell

Doing Hard Time

Everything points
to itself:
Your eyes
are your eyes,
and your hair
is your hair,
and the wall
is the wall.
The mirror dances
when the wall trembles
and broken mirrors
are seven years
of bad luck,
seven years until
the body renews
its aimless cells
like weeks from
their days--never
the same
but always the same
form. I can't see
myself in this mirror--
the air is too dense
or too bright
or too swollen
and you are too
far gone. The sun
of the last months
drops through
like a coin,
like a mind
catching itself
in the act.

Everybody Knows That

All nights are white,
someone broke the eagle's wings
and the man in the moon
pines for his woman--
old stories.
I stretch my hand
toward the stars
and let it
of the ice) drop.
Fragments fall, mix
with the screams of sirens.
I need your breath
to anchor mine, your shoulder,
leaning against mine, your hair
that tingles my skin.
On my island, the sharks'
challenge is written
on squared fins: Swim
to safety! Even fish
avoid the shadows
of this coast, only
crustacea are fearless
here. In the morning
I listen to a shell:
Loving hearts.
Nonsense. Hearts are fists,
muscles, functioning
like pumps. Everybody
knows that.