Custodian

Custodian
 
Before the first sketches, where was the statehouse
Before this stone was culled from the quarry
Before the custodian who now wields a floor scrubber
to protect our pretend idea that each day that the building is new

The statehouse uses its secrets to dream
It learned this from the prisoners who first grew it from stone
and scribbled on the early walls

The statehouse is all lit up from the inside in the dark morning
Like love it clutches within itself the human caresses which
gave it a body

Quiet Company

Quiet Company

An ocean plus the sand scraped from the pit of its soul
plus the large spider crawling from the leaves
of the tomato plant plus every glass you shattered
come clanging back to haunt you plus the full feeling
of you in the city’s belly looking up at the gleaming
building parts alone plus the full train plus the empty train.

All of this in a bag hauled Santa-style dragging in the snow
then tied to the collar of a dog with a song for a name
and keen ears ready to run.

Part and Parcel: Kristina Marie Darling