Alan Harris reading
Still Life
by Alan Harris
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Sunday mind picks up its pen behind easy-chair eyes when, three inches left from a stained-glass cardinal hanging red against the window glass from a suction cup and hook, is seen a real dove outdoors fluffed up for warmth on a telephone wire amid almost no snowfall. Glenn Gould's Bach Toccatas play precisely through the furnace blower's bass while an off-duty iron stands unplugged and cool beside its folded handkerchiefs on a flimsy-legged ironing board between here and the brown couch that bears a draped gold afghan, throw pillow, and open briefcase. Eyes divert to a tiny white nick in the near edge of the lamp table and stare for measureless minutes-- then return without reason to the window. The dove hasn't moved, nor has the window's cardinal of glass perceived this breathless snow, so light as to be nearly finite. |
From the book Knocking on the Sky (1997-1998)
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(Alan Harris)
by Alan Harris. All rights reserved.