The garage had once more
Been transformed into a butcher’s shop.
Was I fourteen or nine?
A young man or a boy?
Was it a Sunday?
     It was if it adds magnitude.

What happens in a year is forgettable;
What happens in a minute lasts our whole lives.
My father gutting squirrels
Hands me the liquid red knife.
Squeamish, I drop it, and I run.

-Patrick Conners Jr

Shaving - Charles Simic

Child of sorrow.
Old snotnose.
Stray scrap from the table of the gods.
Toothless monkey.
Workhorse,
Wheezing there,
Coughing too.

The trouble with you is,
Your body and soul
Don't get along well together.
Pigsty for a brain,
Stop them from making faces at each other
In the mirror!
Then, remove the silly angel wings
From your gorilla suit.

-Charles Simic, Shaving

Calvino told me that I better get used to reflections;
A reliance on metaphors confirms this.

It is as though we write the same poem endlessly
To ourselves, only we try to cover it up by
Changing our words around.

We weigh nothing. Weight comes from the outside.
They put it on us. They shovel us full of concrete,
Which without we would merely float into the sun.

Calvino, lightness, you know what I'm saying,
Dont you?
The ghost is weightless, except for her anguish.

~pjc jr 2/6/12