August 24th in Lemaîtreville
The Aurora Borealis arched over Lemaîtreville.
Clocks spiraled. The town tree grew an inch.
People opened windows and doors,
spread their palms expecting feathers,
and wished to smell food or flowers
or even their neighbor’s sweat.
People’s noses bled from sniffing.
Kaluza Klein unlatched the flue and raised
her antenna to listen. She heard blue,
green, and silver hum. She interpreted
queries and a pulse of prime numbers.
She transmitted her reply. Like every night,
Kaluza sent messages to the past and hoped.
She reset her clock and marked time.
An Unrecognizable Opening
Laura Capon cannot return
before the storm, the gas.
The clouds are nebulous.
The town tree buttresses
the night sky. Memories
tangle its branches, leaves.
Outside Kaluza’s house,
the sewer bubbles rise.
People plug ears and noses.
No one eats. They practice
ignoring and forgettings.
Laura Capon divines a stick
and conjures a potable moment.
She renders a future to now.
Now is one before midnight.
The sky’s a black hood.
Laura writes a letter home.
She whispers to Kaluza’s ear,
“Comfort and compassion
are two worlds in one time.
This is our time. . . . Choose.”
Kaluza Klein opens her mouth.
*
Tom Holmes is the founding editor of Redactions: Poetry & Poetics, and author of three full-length collections of poetry, most recently The Cave, which won The Bitter Oleander Press Library of Poetry Book Award for 2013, as well as four chapbooks. His writings about wine, poetry book reviews, and poetry can be found at his blog, The Line Break. Follow him on Twitter: @TheLineBreak
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