July 29, 2008

The Shining Room

To survive chaos she inscribes
chaos, looking through

          space      this

shining flycatcher, oat grass
a line through fabric


name, a wild steadying
drawn tightly across

          what fills

To see
what wonít go away

          she lists
          every false claim

extending her body in space

          transparency after transparency

—H.T. Harrison
from Practicing Amnesia (Singing Horse Press, 2000) by Heather Thomas

Posted by dwaber at 02:09 PM

July 28, 2008

The Room of Not-Knowing

Thereís a bed, a lamp, a bureau,
the drawer filled with your socks.
You keep the corners clear
for piles of laundry, magazines.
You sit at the desk hunting
what you donít know in words
unspooling filigreed patterns
laced like nests across an inner sky.

Someone carries the chair to the car.

When the nests fall
from the weight of their knots
you make new ones
or give up and construct a series
of shifting screens dark or light
depending on whether you
remembered to change the bulb.
Some have the translucence of pearls
or the wings of mating dragonflies.

The car carries someone to the chair.

You come through rain
before everything strung and fallen,
brief as photos, your chance
to live at the heart of the real
and to tell. You are perturbed
at the pronounciation of your name.
Sleeping above you the skeleton
dangles your writing hand from its ear.

The chair someone carries is a car.

—H. T. Harrison

Posted by dwaber at 02:16 PM

July 24, 2008


you are not your mind you are not your mind you are not

                the poem is
                not your body

is language an ocean we live            coming to
                                     forms           proof
                                               she was coming to

blank space where the body could be blank space

                        curve           ink

                        wet     wide    open

thought lands wild      (grief is simple and dark)

                          to turn

turn into the one you want or each next enter the split

                mount an enormous
                with fictions
rushing past

     will you be close


               utterly solitude

                        maple, moss

my plot is marvelous this fine gauze

         conceals        practices

hard careful digging hard careful digging hard

          cold part

          would imagine

                    life like

—H.T. Harrison
from Resurrection Papers (Chax Press, 2003) by Heather Thomas

Posted by dwaber at 01:28 PM