21 March 2005 | Vol. 5, No. 1

What Zen Do with Whips, I Do with Willow

by PAUL MCCORMICK

E. Unim didn't last long at the Met.

The chief folly being her melange piece, The Staccatoed Invertebrate—

A plastic locomotive duct-taped to a wheelchair.

                                   —

For the accelerated displacement of Artifact & Toy…

For the replication of river-way as 'medius idealis…'

For the human et cetera of Makeshift & Scurry…

I blame the Locomotive and thus your trolley.

So said the Curator to E.

                                   —

My teacher, a paperback half-devoured by mushrooms,

suggests a supine outlook beneath willows

to clarify like pond-ice

the errant foliates of the mind.

                                   —

And willow was where I met her,

digging a hole beneath the moon with a spoon.

We lowered the steel cripple, melange intact, into the chocolate earth

and said a prayer at volume tiny country.

                                   —

Why E. chose willow was primarily her hair.

Perfect braids, perfect moon.