The Poetry Project


Myra Mniewski

Restore small shards
as living rooms sway before me
pointedly mid century
legs sharp as red brick
dissolve into a gateway’s orbs
balanced atop my sister’s
embrace her French chignon
now moldered in aqueous gel
an aquarium leading back to Lodz
to a courtyard decayed
by a drunkard’s amnesia
revelatory in its yowl

A remaining stoop points
to a Jersey City window
my mother escaped through
to rush along graffitied walls
missing avenues formed by
an amoeba’s luminous void
reminiscent of ice crackling
on the current of melted flux
as precarious as a runaway stream
that traverses dank hallways
underground bunkers
ferreting through marshes
of Andalusian wilderness

A desert’s disembodied discourse
cascades through wetlands
the talismans of memory
dilated now like the seahorse
rocking to and fro
to gallop across alleyways
where gypsies live
and tricycles rust
fragments forever
carried on Neil Sedaka’s voice
Somewhere in sewers
somersaults swirl and crystalize
into labyrinthine passageways
revealing incredible vistas
of crumbled concrete
exploded into cloud dust
prickly waves of heat
vibrating in unison
toward a so-called crawl
that slithers on the road to stillness
the hum of silence
music that’s always there
like the breath of droplets
conveying infection
along parallel universes
trickling the fool out of percolating water
anesthetizing those bends in the road
those globular corners
intermittently conscious of disintegration
the sauce of reduction
that smells of inner relations
held in place sporadically
in an autonomous zone

Work from Architecture of the Interior: how to save the house with Angel Dominguez