Anyway | Richard Siken

Anyway
by Richard Siken
He was pointing at the moon but I was looking at his hand.
He was dead anyway, a ghost. I'm surprised
I saw his hand at all. The moon, of course, is always
there—day moon, but it's still there; behind the clouds but
it's still there. I like seeing things: a hand, the moon, ice
in a highball glass. The moon? It's free, it doesn't
cost you anything so go ahead and look. Sustained attention
to anything—a focus, a scrutiny—always yields results.
I'd live on the moon probably except I think I'd miss
the moonlight, landscaping craters with clay roses in earthshine
and a reasonable excuse to avoid visiting hours
at the mental hospital. In space, no one can hear you
lying to your mom: "Can't make it, Mom. It's
a really long schlep." The coffee's weak and the coffee cake's
imaginary. You're not missing anything. Inside: a day room( Read more... )

Detail of the Woods | Richard Siken

Detail of the Woods 

by Richard Siken

I looked at all the trees and didn't know what to do.

A box made out of leaves.

What else was in the woods? A heart, closing. Nevertheless.

Everyone needs a place. It shouldn't be inside of someone else.

I kept my mind on the moon. Cold moon, long nights moon.

From the landscape: a sense of scale.

From the dead: a sense of scale.

I turned my back on the story. A sense of superiority.

Everything casts a shadow.

Your body told me in a dream it's never been afraid of anything.

ETA: This is my favorite Siken poem: http://polymexina.livejournal.com/669534.html