Switched-on Gutenberg Issue 16
6 months, the Museum
at the Jean Shin Exhibit

All domes today.
The courtyard lit by sun
but cool, cool as night.
Summer’s heat, wind held
outside by high glass.
Still trees in a still place.
Cloth unraveled to strings
connect across the country.
Our crossed bindings, community.
Rough wool and fringed fabric.
Patterned glass above
polished tile below.
If light filtered in
would the baby be translucent right now?
Corded connection threaded with growth.
This space could be an everyday gift.
Push open the door, mark brass with your fingers.
Notice the air change against your face,
your arm. Where are you most comfortable?
Do you stop under the color-patterned glass
or the unraveled sweaters?
Picture a wind that blows
through circles of nylon.
How wind measured by cloth
becomes breath. The world’s
breath made visible.
Just as you always imagined.
A slight recline, the baby
pressing against the top of you,
higher than the day before.
Almost to your ribs, tapping
and shifting.
Realize you are a dome today.
A new height the growing baby
drifts towards each day.
Is it just as you imagined it?
To hold the breath of the world
inside. Not quite visible
but physical. There, yes, there.

Copyright 2010,  Lara Payne

Lara Payne lives in Maryland. She teaches poetry in the D.C. public schools and at the college level. She has been a resident of the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts and a semi-finalist for the Nation/Discovery Award.

<< Previous      Contents      Next   >>