Zanni Schauffler |
Outside snow and inside a tree of a girl.
She's thin but not sad.
She is glad to be alone
and wants to know what she looks like
so sits on the end of bed
across from the mirror.
She balances an ashtray
on her knee and smokes
which she doesn't normally do.
She tries not to catch her own eye
Then she takes off her t-shirt
and smokes that way.
She stands and turns a bit
crossing a bare arm across her stomach
above where her brown pants slouch down
and sees her sneakers poking out
from her pant cuffs.
She thinks she should get some new clothes.
She has grown very thin.
She is glad to be alone.
She wants to see what people see
when she's not looking.
The One and Only Camel in Vermont
Who was even paying attention to direction?
It mattered little. Only, we'd been around people for days
and it would have been nice to know where New Hampshire was.
People—their manners and camouflage.
Their bustling in and out of swinging doors,
their nagging mosquito bites and trips to the puddle that served as a lake.
I suppose you can't deny any animal a taste for low mountains
and adirondack chairs.
But this landscape, more foreign to this stalwart bactrian than me?
I'd have liked to have brought him an olive
if that is in fact something camels like to eat.
I'd have held my palm flat and smelled his ears.
I'd simply like to have known what he was thinking
standing out there in the barnyard among all the cows.
And who knew what we were thinking, other than it was
a pleasing sight to see him there.
What We Come Back To
The furniture in this poem is animals,
tea, a face erased. Declensions of light, leaves, something in the infinitive.
Blood, and water in glass. Seconds.
The invisibility of things changing. Feet. Cages. Eruptions.
Bodies in snowfields. A single piece of falling snow.
I used to wish to stay the same forever.
Put a giraffe in a snowfield, fill the teacup with blood.
Serrate leaves then smooth their edges.
Draw a caged foot. Make the body ugly in light.
Focus a blurred moment and it's still a moment.
This is your house. Cars drive up the road.
about Zanni Schauffler