No. 6

Spring 2004

No blueprints, no schematic,
no flowery word for a map

can tell me why in the world
I'm fixed before this:

a hole punched through my kitchen window.

Sure, the blood-edged glass looks
like a thousand loosened snake tongues

but mostly, the TV is gone.

I know weight shifts gradually.
First the heel presses down at its angle,

then the arch of the foot rolls
like credits through the toes

until the box is through my door.
Six blocks from here,

the ocean is eating California
and when the policeman opens his notebook

all I say is: 24", color, like new

Copyright 2004, Sommer Browning

nidus is an online publication supported by the Writing Program at the University of Pittsburgh's English Department.