Eszter Takacs
I meant nothing by which we stand here gracefully eating
We are in the midst of a
light blue crisis among others
but we continue moving slowly up
the stairs like passing ghosts.
We are standing on the cliff’s edge
but also marveling at passing trains.
The moment passes
like an archetypal reading of lonely moss,
another derivative of misconceiving.
If you paint a wall gray, the floor becomes
a new beginning inside and under itself.
You and I are gray walls standing
majestically in the rain.
If you designate a number to
the length of time we’ve spent
not saying anything, it would be
the greatest lapse in judgment this year.
It would also be a reserved escape
from the monuments inside which we
count backward toward the first day
we traded eyes, touched hands, kept our feet.
In killing anything we judge to be a threat
we are also killing everything that is willing to live
equally under dark hard ground or
inside a bright new hemisphere.
We stand around eating like landed moths
scouring a rusted fire escape,
like disenfranchised birds misreading
the noon sky and its disorganized limbs.
I ask that talking be kept minimal,
surrounded only by fogless dying light.
What is equal to talking is a closed rendering
of a waiting room full of taller waiting women.
I cannot disclose any additional information.
about the meaning of relic or rapture or saint.
Misappropriate your belongings before you leave.
Please, because time spent sitting here
is time spent sitting elsewhere too.
Eszter Takacs is an MFA candidate at the University of Arkansas. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Barn Owl Review, Phoebe, Cloud Rodeo, ILK, Word Riot, The Adroit Journal, Forklift Ohio, Ghost Proposal and DIAGRAM. Her chapbook The Spectacular Crash is forthcoming from H_NGM_N in 2013. She is an expert in tire maintenance and hails discreetly from Los Angeles. She blogs photos at www.ethula.tumblr.com
Return to September 2013 Edition
We are in the midst of a
light blue crisis among others
but we continue moving slowly up
the stairs like passing ghosts.
We are standing on the cliff’s edge
but also marveling at passing trains.
The moment passes
like an archetypal reading of lonely moss,
another derivative of misconceiving.
If you paint a wall gray, the floor becomes
a new beginning inside and under itself.
You and I are gray walls standing
majestically in the rain.
If you designate a number to
the length of time we’ve spent
not saying anything, it would be
the greatest lapse in judgment this year.
It would also be a reserved escape
from the monuments inside which we
count backward toward the first day
we traded eyes, touched hands, kept our feet.
In killing anything we judge to be a threat
we are also killing everything that is willing to live
equally under dark hard ground or
inside a bright new hemisphere.
We stand around eating like landed moths
scouring a rusted fire escape,
like disenfranchised birds misreading
the noon sky and its disorganized limbs.
I ask that talking be kept minimal,
surrounded only by fogless dying light.
What is equal to talking is a closed rendering
of a waiting room full of taller waiting women.
I cannot disclose any additional information.
about the meaning of relic or rapture or saint.
Misappropriate your belongings before you leave.
Please, because time spent sitting here
is time spent sitting elsewhere too.
Eszter Takacs is an MFA candidate at the University of Arkansas. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Barn Owl Review, Phoebe, Cloud Rodeo, ILK, Word Riot, The Adroit Journal, Forklift Ohio, Ghost Proposal and DIAGRAM. Her chapbook The Spectacular Crash is forthcoming from H_NGM_N in 2013. She is an expert in tire maintenance and hails discreetly from Los Angeles. She blogs photos at www.ethula.tumblr.com
Return to September 2013 Edition