Martha McCollough
PENELOPE UNWEAVING
night erases
these geese
my guests
my little flock
the cats catch
at loose threads
stealth unpicks
a leaf a stripe
a knotted wreath
the tight rows
ravel into flags
madder and lake
fretting the weft
by thin light
of dish moon
nail moon
potato moon
rose curls to bud
spirals to the root
to a russet hip
king in the dirt
harrassed
by sparrows
rows of sleepers
faint as ghosts
midnight renews
the pluck and tug
my unwork
my calendar
my wine dark
wave undone
a little ship
a black thread
wound on
a wooden spool
EMERGENCY GUIDELINES
If caught in smoke
If trapped by fire
If forced to advance
through flames
visualize the faces
of the dead
flares at nightfall
burning through ice
flickering over water
the invisible hand
has plucked you
from the fire
though you
have not deserved it
nor to be dropped
a scorched leaf
at the stony margin where
cormorants hold up their wings
like shocked neighbors
aghast at
your catastrophes
the hand is
imaginary
indifferent to your fate
this sense
of an impending fist
some looming thing wishing to grind you
to paste
is pure projection but
be prepared to slip
soundless into water
to skim along
under the surface
breathing through a reed
each moment a lucid
pool in which to sink