A weekly poem, read by the author.
Jan. 3 2006 6:28 AM


Click here to listen to Teresa Cader read this poem.

In the crazy guest who saws off the chair legs,

In the wind hissing beneath the door sweep,
A tribe of mice squeezing through pocket doors,

In the pants pockets where the evidence remains,
Those filaments of wool in the moth-eaten rug,

In the masquerade of motion that sets off the alarm,
The alarm that arrives via airwaves at dinnertime,

In the worm that opens e-mail, eats the address book,
The virus propagating on the unsuspecting screen,

In the cell that missed a loop of timing and purpose,
The unpaid tax surfacing like a submarine,

In the bloody stool and saliva, the mucus and membrane,
Slits of sunlight discoloring blue curtains,

In the broken gutter where ice dams pry up the roof,
A crack in the skylight where mold sifts down,

In the contractor hammering windmills on shingles,
The carpenter bees burrowing barracks into the attic,

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