surgery society

organized
green stripes zoom faithfully
down the side of the
upholstery and
mother mary prays solemnly in the corner

used to be i could see her
through the mirror in the living room from my bed
but i moved it to check my
reflection and i can't get it back.

my company tonight is
the sound of cars on the street,
faint hum of refrigerator,
empty rocking chair and clouded glass from dinner

still.
alone.

heartsong, the boy wrote
when you are quiet you can hear it
and it is the most beautiful thing in the world.
i'm as afraid of hearing it
as the world is afraid of beauty
it means your heart opens
and we are a surgery society, prefer
masked doctors in
blue drapes with knives and precision
safe.
prefer
stacks of magazines and 2for$5 and strewn keys
if we know what lies within we think we know what lies within
monsters
but maybe they guard
the light or maybe they keep it
captive like a princess with her bird in a story who cries and they
wait, wait, between the gray stones and dry light
and maybe the darkness stifles
or maybe it drives away the wobbly-kneed, the ill-intended, the dark hearts that
recognize itself and flee
darkness, the unaware watchdog
thinking itself wild but submitting to its master
nothing but the shadow, reliant on the light
hiding in the creases for the distracted wanderer

the fairy tales are wonderful as a child
but when we get old we discard them
maybe we laugh because we're afraid
of what?
that they are false, or that they are true?

so my fingers keep moving
tap, tap, tap, tap
it's at the door, you know
and i'm just stalling for time.