The Infinitesimals. Laura Kasischke
dinner. While something
struggled under the water,
bound by ropes.
And the warm milk dribbled down the sick man’s chin.
And the wife, the mother, the daughter, the hostess, and those
few people on Earth she would ever wish were dead
were the ones she loved the most.
The Emptying of the Censers
And operated on her brain.
And moved around the very
stones of that foundation.
And poured fire into a lake.
And then stood by
whistling at the sky. Bad
news, I’m afraid. Sit
down if you like.
Later, I found her
in the farthest North. Five
thousand miles of train
tracks away, wearing
a black cap lined
with stars and planets, at
the vastest edge
of that northern forest
where the question
of distance
is answered by time. She
did not look surprised. I
wasn’t expecting you
so late, she said, her
words set to music:
motherhood, that
grand opera
staged in a cave.
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