Barbara Joan Tiger Bass

Monday, I put it in my pocket,
rub it smooth to soothe my nerves.

Tuesday, I try to scale it.
Enormous, looming it takes all my strength.

Wednesday, I kick it out of my way,
inconsequential pebble in my path.

Thursday, sit on it. Look out at the horizon.
Feel small compared with geologic time.

Friday, wear it. Bedecked, bejeweled, glistening
and weighted I feel protected by earthly wealth.

Saturday, walk into its cave cool dankness
to escape the glaring sun. Awed by form.

Sunday, waft through with immense faith
that there is another side to this hardness.

the purple stone stolen
with my journal
and the woven bag
inherited from a cryptic poet

all taken from the white car
window I’d left open a crack
in front of a medical building
when i recover the secret will be out

i wrote you into the truth
you whom i carried across
the empty threshold
of stolen time

above the country
plenty of 1st class arm
space and documents

the news is all about Iraq
insurgency and the beheaded

which ever chosen language
co-opted accent of refugee
vs. shameful vernacular

the stiffness of L-5, S-1 coincides
with various rainy days

ignore disjointed information
focus on seat belt explanations
and exit row agreements

carry a picture jasper stone
to breathe into once in a while

concentrate on the immeasurable
moment where altitude at top speed
propels time forward to satiate wish

glacial ablation
since ages
vaporous trends
what roils below eye level
fathoms of cold
calved and churned
the disappeared
traveler transformed
from one solid state
to empty space

first there was the flood
mushrooms grew
between rug and wall

students wrote in the stench
mildew and herbal tea
sage and dank earth

water seeped up onto kitchen
tiles, between concrete grout
puddled under yellow formica table

when it was time to pack
the cabinets poured years
of supplies onto counter tops

reams of colorful paper and boxes
of drying ink collided with scraps
of ribbon and glue sticks

the doll collection was lowered
into containers carefully; babies
and Barbies wrapped in tissue

even the heirloom doll was boxed
away in her layers of wool and lace
her porcelain face covered

and the myriad magazines
hoarded for collage work
were stacked into crates

as each object went into a box
the barren room
succumbed to emptiness

Shinook speakers painted
red iron oxide pigment
on basalt rock

tally marks
of vision quest creatures
from spirit world
zig zag lines
exit their heads

a pledged family
of cañon wrens soars
above the owlish face
of She Who Watches

it’s a cold basement gray outside
the phone disrupts a simple quiet

severed from the outdoors
by a lazy quest for warm and dry

houseplants languish beside the clothes-
rack drooped with lycra garments

triangular beaks of seagulls on the Japanese bedspread
flash across their dim ochre sky

downstairs fake gunshots ring out in an electronic splash
and traverse various spinal nerves

notice the lure of sleep reflected in the tuxedo
cat curled on the purple couch

these earth seams
divots in ice
alone in melt
circular glow

cities blend reflective vision
dive into another loss
swirl without years end
and bleed into currency

shaped for imaginary
disappearance the strands
disconsolate and empty

a blown-out future
meager modulation
hoped for shadow casts
a cirque of uncertainty