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| The Dissolution of Wall Street (M.A. Reilly, 2009) |
Work
- Ryan Teitman
Some mornings, the clouds settle rooftop low,
holding us in place
like a specimen slide.
I spend my days
wondering how a hammer
weighs the hand
that holds it,
or how the starlings apron
the stoplights
at Alcatraz
and Adeline.
A glassworker told me once
that she could tell
by the scars
who bandages their fingers
and who kisses closed
the wounds. I don't
know how
my father woke
hours before sunrise
each morning and worked
until long past sunset.
Sleep was a country
to retire to, an Ecuador.
I live where the light is
thin, and clothes us
like linen.
In the hills above town,
a black snake scrawls
across the path
like a signature.
I still have countries
left to discover, and ballets
of work
for my hands to learn.
