By Brenda Hillman
We bury the sparrows of Europe
with found instruments,
their breasts light as an ounce of tea
where we had seen them off the path,
their twin speeds of shyness & notched wings
near the pawnbroker's house by the canal,
in average neighborhoods of the resisters,
or in markets of princely delphinium & flax,
flying from awnings at unmarked rates
to fetch crumbs from our table half-spinning
back to clefs of grillwork on external stairs
we would descend much later;
in rainy neighborhoods of the resisters
where streets were taken one by one,
where consciousness is a stair or path,
we mark their domains with notched sticks
of hickory or chestnut or ash
because our cities of princely pallor
should not have unmarked graves.
Lyric work, flight of arch, death bridge
to which patterned being is parallel:
they came as if from the margins
of a painting, their average hearts half-spinning
our little hourglass up on the screen.
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Wednesday was another relatively unexciting day, though I got to argue with both my children about the quickest way to destroy the human race and I got to pick up my new glasses, including a pair of progressives that it will probably take me a month to get used to (last time I tried progressives, I fell down an elevator at the mall and up a curb at the food store, both causing serious leg cuts) and a really adorable pair of prescription sunglasses, something I have never had before. I drove myself and Daniel there, because Daniel was picking up new glasses too, but he had to drive us home, because I had to have all the tests that require eye dilation that I didn't get last time so I could drive while his eyes were dilated!
We had one coupon for a free Domino's pizza and another for half off because of the Nationals' no-hitter last week (tonight they merely won in extra innings, heh) so we tried their handmade pizza, which is actually pretty good (of course I got feta on my half and split with Adam who got pineapple). Then we watched an awesome NOVA special on birds, after which 13 Going On 30 turned up on some cable channel. I am feeling much less silly about liking Cinderella because Cinderella may actually be more sophisticated and less objectionable than the former, and I'm saying this despite Mark Ruffalo who was of course my only reason for watching in the first place! From Lewis Ginter Botanic Garden earlier in the spring:
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