From my chair beside the Moroccan leather pouffe,
I can see an uncountable
avalanche of objects—and suppose I try to list them—
with family photos in cheap gilt frames, an open
appointment book, three ceramic coasters
painted by hand in Mexico, two miniature
carved figurines, a tiny plastic flashlight
and, alongside the chest, a chinoiserie
vase in blue and white porcelain and a
carved wooden Buddha’s bust, bought
in an Oakland second hand store, once
painted in now peeling gold and blue…
My aspect has hardly altered. All of this and more crowds
into my single glance, and there’s still the rest of the room
unfocussed,
and a house made of many other rooms
right after that, and then the whole of the outdoors,
yards and trees, the distant marsh, eventually the sea!
For every green cockatoo imagined there’s an endless reach
of plain hardwood flooring, countless pictures hanging
on the dull walls, carpets and blinds and curtains
and, out beyond those, a world unfolding forever.
Charles D. Tarlton is a retired professor of political theory who lives in Northampton, Massachusetts with his wife, Ann Knickerbocker, an abstract painter. He has been writing poetry and flash fiction since 2006, and a collection of his ekphrastic prosimetra, Touching Fire (Kyso Flash, 2018) is available on Amazon.
Sparks of Calliope 