Throw Yourself into the Prairie. Francesca Chabrier

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СКАЧАТЬ CHAPTER ONE

THE POPULAR TREE

      There is a popular tree

      that lives year round.

      Maybe it will live forever

      who knows

      there is no one

      that can touch it.

      People come

      from all around

      to see the popular tree.

      It holds a nest

      made out of gloves.

      I should say that the tree

      is not gigantic. It is

      about as big as a man

      of average size

      without a head

      or shoulders.

      The tree is

      so incredible that

      when I walk up to it,

      my legs shake.

      I want to lick

      the leaves of the tree.

      I want to watch it

      get struck by lightening

      and turn to neon.

      This is not because

      I want to destroy the tree.

      It’s because sometimes

      it is fun to watch things

      misbehave.

CHEEK AGAINST SOFT PUMPKIN FUR

      I am me, but I am a cow.

      You are a river.

      You think I am cute.

      You call me kitten-cow.

      You are a river, but your water

      looks like a hologram

      and when I look at you,

      I see a fake reflection.

      You tell me I am wearing

      five scarves even though

      I have mittens on.

      I throw a coin at you,

      but you are not a fountain.

      You ask me to meow

      for you, but I won’t.

      I feed you chocolate, and we play that game

      where I write on your leg with my finger.

      You brush my hair for 2 hours

      while I spell things like:

      cheek against soft pumpkin fur, and

      I would come to you on a rubber gull.

      The eyes and the faces become less easy

      to make out in the night,

      but we go on and on.

      Wax ponyfish. Japanese fog.

      I am stupid at stopping.

THE WHITE MACHINE

      The white machine is packed with lights.

      The machine is white

      because it has let the snow collect.

      There is a baby inside

      the machine. There are stars,

      and also a deep place you can go

      to see Machu Picchu.

      The machine

      produces white paper. The paper

      is smooth like the voice I am using

      to talk to you. I write a letter

      on the paper and slide it under your door.

       Hello, please give me back

      the umbrella you borrowed.

      When rain falls on the machine,

      it bubbles first and then produces a noise

      that sounds like passing through

      an aisle of shaking trees.

      This is the sound of the machine crying.

      The machine is white

      and eats white bread. White milk.

      The machine runs on white milk. It

      collects snow. It holds the baby.

      I smack the machine and the baby shakes.

      Inside there are mummies wrapped in white paper.

      A telephone rings.

      Hello, I will not give you back your umbrella.

      The snow turns to rain and makes white puddles.

      The baby swims in the water,

      and floats on the surface like a bottle.

      The white machine is tired. I hold it

      and kiss it with my clean white hands.

A PLACE FOR EVERYTHING

      All morning, I walk around with a bag over my head.

      My mother calls on the telephone. She wears a paper hat. She keeps it in her pocketbook while she is sleeping. “I want to join in,” I tell her. I fold the bag into СКАЧАТЬ