POEM FOR MARCH 2

Evelyn is blind.
Evelyn was permanently and totally disabled in 2009.
It’s true I don’t know what I am.
Today is March 2. Today I am the Japanese maple or just a branch?
Only the sides of things are Tuesday. The insides are timeless
like the time we drove from Minnesota to Missouri in three hours.
Or how, in the science museum, I ran up and down a piano.
You said the mummy was a man and I begged a man for three-dimensional
glasses to see the mountain, but all I saw was a woman with hair
down to her ankles. I am thanking everything that tickles. I am wearing
three-dimensional glasses going downtown, and the bus is stuck in a mountain.
I think the mummy was a woman. I think in two-dimensions until I hear
a piano, and then I think of strings wiggling inside matter. It doesn’t matter.
The strings are strung from Tuesday to Missouri, hung from the branches
downtown. I am running away from sound. I am running up and down a mountain
in Missouri, the one you made out of glasses we found downtown.
I am permanently and totally able to know what we found
inside a mountain. It was Tuesday and it was the Japanese maple.
Today is March 2. I am coming down from the piano and going downtown.

[written very quickly this morning after breakfast and a day after doing my taxes]