Waiting

 

Upstairs she sleeps,

a box of bones on her lap.

 

She says here they strung

skulls eighteen in line,

like clicking beads on a rosary.

 

Eighteen in line, tongueless bells

clang their heads together

till they crack, but cannot ring

the name of their executioner.

 

She says, “They cry and I come.”

The dawn is as white as bone.

 

 

 

The Width of One Eye

            I

The woman in the hall at five o’clock

this morning, screaming help me and

beating her fists into your doors

came from my room.

 

Thank you for staying inside.

 

            II

She likes Lu Xun’s short stories, chilled

cheap white wine, and Miguel Caló’s tango vals.

 

Sometimes she comes from Shanghai;

sometimes she comes from Hong Kong;

I see good reason for either lie.

 

I hope the tango let you sleep.

We took off our shoes to dance.

 

            III

Do I have to tell you when she ran out

into the hall she was naked? And insisted

I throw, in this order, shoes, purse, clothing

to her, instead of risking my room to dress?

 

Come on, didn’t at least one of you

nudge your door open

 

the width of one eye?