Wednesday, November 16, 2005


Shut the drawers. No.
Open the drawers first.
Check for forks. No.
Knives. If there are knives
crossed, straighten them. No.
Check for knives which are out. If
they are, straighten them. Crossed
knives attract lightening.
Then put any knives
into a drawer.
Make sure
Spoons. Light is crescent upon a spoon.
Turn spoons over.
Spoons contain.
Spit. Not to polish but to shine.
Shine remains when darkness covers,
even if it is dark inside.
Retain composure.
Keep fingers busy.
Mark words.
Paw doubt.
It is show time and pretty soon a morning star
will wander for a manger.
The Madonna's hands shall be Raphael eclectic
and not one bit bloodied: an edict unwritten
in her wrists.
How remiss
to have missed stains.
Pause. Check for rain.
Rain heralds anger.
Keep no thirst. Never call spades. Recognize
a pot when it bubbles over. Moreover
place all cups within shrines.
Allow irons to cool. Strike not, nor linger.
Take measure. Pool any present danger.
Hush. (No, hark.)
There may be breathy strangers
haggling cupboards. Hurry.
She might unswathe, or tell
hordes where she hoards
more treasure. Myrrh for example. Although no
one knows quite what for.
Shut all.
Shut all.


Rae Pater said...

whoa! excellent, excellent poem Anne Marie!!

Lovely stuff!

Jordan said...

Yes, yes!

AnnMarie Eldon said...

sorry guys - I must have edited this at least ten times once it was posted
it is in part inspired by my grandmother - her mother a gypsy - who used to have us kids uncross any knives when there was thunder approaching
I miss her

didi said...

I added this one to the "best of".

AnnMarie Eldon said...


thank you!!

I have to send a new bio - it has to include my grandmother somehow - I think she's in the house