Get You, new e-chap from Claire Becker.

Fish Eagle

Dinner that night
I wore royal blue sweatpants, a striped red
sweatshirt and sat on a white plastic chair.
Dinner was a golden fish taco,
cucumbers beside. Next to me
the Exquisito cart.
My flip-flops were royal blue;
my ankles were dusted brown;
your stuffed pepper was green;
my family was a school of rainbow fish,
two inches long. I went underwater
above the rocks past the lighthouse.
I wore a mask, flippers, a snorkel
by the huge hotel.
The plates and wine glasses
broken in there.
The sea eagle. The erne.
I didn’t want you in your town,
snow around. At a solstice party,
I focused on relationships
with strangers. What I sounded like,
what the silence sounded.
We had an orange out
orbiting a candle.
I asked all questions.
The side of my dad’s face.
Relaxed or smiling?
Could we say who today,
share ourselves off our hour?
Was your me better—without
what I’d said and done? The real things
I read. Pictured you picturing
how I spent my week.
Fish eagle. Osprey.
The Mexico. The sleeping it off.
I was wondering—thin line of blue
sky when the rest of the sun has set?
The Dog Star,
Orion, the Hyades,
Taurus, the Pleiades,
Cepheus, square with birthday hat?
I wanted to go west.
Red fire in the sky,
thought it was the west
or Las Vegas, Perseus.
Wanted to wake, go south
and see the cross.
Better than wave
as I emptied my head.
Emptied for a red spark in the sky.
1) Intense solitude becomes unbearable
only when there’s nothing one wishes
to say to another. 2) Saints talk to birds
but only lunatics get an answer.
Americana Americana
Full of vacation cavities, couldn’t
participate—pessimistic, poor.
Red line in the sky, medicinal
so the sky wouldn’t cough.
Havasupai Reservation
Kaibab Plateau
Time to destination 00:55
Latitude 36:04 N
Head Wind Painted
Desert. We didn’t paint.
I didn’t photograph that.
Had you photograph it.
I only photographed some shadows—
brush tingling by the crosshatch
of the fence. Roof deck
with driftwood railings. Orange jellyfish,
three inches. I was a little paralyzed.
Slept and read, didn’t fight.
I used Mutable,
adverbs, was economical.
I totally forgot.
I walked the beach. Wanted
and I’d forgotten you
and Canadians showed me
the telescoped moon
It looked gray and various.
No dark rabbit. Not white.
Lines from a central point
out to touch a circle.
The blue moon,
they said, For your psyche.
This is the only way to look at the sun.

Get it here, Duration Press 2009.

Claire Becker teaches at California School for the Blind and co-edits RealPoetik.
She blogs at Human’s Animal.

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