Tipton Poetry Journal
Winter Economies George Ovitt
“Hay dentaduras olvidadas en una cafetera”—Neruda
We’ve started saving our worn teeth in coffee pots, Our fingernails, cut to the quick, in china cups, And we no longer flush the toilet. In the bedrooms, near piles of dead mice, I stack Wet bags of garbage and wilted flowers; The sinks are clogged with thick black hair, And the bathtubs are gray with greasy water— We eat off unwashed dishes, thick with Dried food from meals long forgotten, Cows and pigs that we’ve eaten raw, Standing under the carport in torn underclothes. No one can open the windows now that The panes are piled with the corpses of flies, And our roaches, plump as stones, Scurry out the door into the bitter air. The cat, dead for a month, rests in the freezer, Stuffed among empty icetrays and unread newspapers, And the neighbors who hate us have moved into the Spare room with their leprous dogs and demented children. My wife sweeps up piles of dead skin and Shards of rotted bone, neat piles arranged on Dressers and tables, in beds and closets. In the spring, if it comes, our tired bodies will Rise on a beam of calm light, high above the Ancient cities, and disappear into the wind.
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