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Music of the spheres
I book a passage in
a woman’s belly to
the moon. We hear
music through the ceiling,
stories of comedies,
the names of the hanged.
Digte om emnet: ceiling
Digte om emnet “ceiling” på Poets.by.
Floating World (Ukiyo)
In the demimonde they say rules
don’t apply; even the law of gravity
has been suspended. You can laugh
from the bottom bounce of a check.
You can float. Women are more
than ornamental: their arts are art.
A sailor spots his ship’s figurehead
on her way to a meeting of the board.
The glass ceiling hasn’t been shattered
but turned into a floor: like sea ice,
blue, translucent, prone to cracks
and groans. It will hold your weight
until spring, when the old order returns
with its dark fins and foreclosures,
its strip poker, its house that always wins.
Nature conspires with nurture again
ceiling studies
staring at the same ceiling
every day from late night to early morning
the newborn sunlight iluminates my freshly torn skin
as my eyes look upwards
burning after a long time of not closing
by now I know every dent
every scratch and bump
my limbs weigh more than the ocean
they stay glued to my tough sheets
the expression plastered upon my face is one of great concern
the thoughts running marathons around my head
the white ceiling knows me off
it knows my bones
my dimples and every freckle
I want to stop looking at it
but I am addicted
The Answer
I asked the watchful corners of a ceiling,
And the little darkened cracks the years scrawled there,
Why there are suns, and if there is a purpose
Behind this mask of life that people wear.
I asked some gnarled and patient shadows groping
Like wise hands of old blind men, on my wall ;
And everything I asked answered my question
With that one answer which does well for all.