Tom Sleigh Poems
|1.||On The Platform||7/14/2014|
|5.||Song That Can Only Be Sung Once||7/14/2014|
|8.||The Last Word?||7/14/2014|
|9.||The Parallel Cathedral||7/14/2014|
|11.||On The Yard||7/14/2014|
|12.||Stone God And Goddess In An Ark||7/14/2014|
|14.||A Wedding At Cana, Lebanon, 2007||7/14/2014|
|20.||The Animals In The Zoo Don'T Seem Worried||7/14/2014|
My mother and I and the dog were floating
Weightless in the kitchen. Silverware
Hovered above the table. Napkins drifted
Just below the ceiling. The dead who had been crushed
By gravity were free to move about the room,
To take their place at supper, lift a fork, knife, spoon—
A spoon, knife, fork that, outside this moment's weightlessness,
Would have been immovable as mountains.
My mother and I and the dog were orbiting
In the void that follows after happiness
Of an intimate gesture: Her hand stroking the dog's head
And the dog looking up, expectant, into ...
On The Platform
The omen I didn't know I was waiting for
pulled into the station the same instant as the train.
It was just a teenage boy busking on the platform,
cello cutting through garble, Bach's repetitions
hard-edged as a scalpel probing an open wound.
But then I kept thinking how a sound wave
travels the path of least resistance,
how the notes rebound off steel and stone