Exactly
Erica Funkhouser, “Day Work”
Alone. I love to be alone. Against
the numberless infinities. Or for
the re-creation of the little chores
that roof my world: embellished emptiness.
A round peg in a square hole will find
its four corners—within, without—and fill
them with its private tyrannies. Be still
and see if solitude will make you kind.
Contained. I love to be contained. The air,
a pair of trees that rise in unison,
the shade that lends my day abundant edge:
inventions, all. The other world’s a cage.
The body scatters and is never done.
Small teeth and claws await us everywhere.
From Earthly, Funkhouser’s fifth collection of poems. via Beatrice)
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