Elizabeth Spires
THE TELESCOPE
It
looked like any other town, only smaller.
There was a town square with a white tower
rising above trees tall as my thumbnail.
And painted storefronts out of a fairytale
with signboards advertising the town's wares .
Ships came and went in the harbor,
each one small as a ship in a bottle, but where
they were sailing to and whether it proved
the world was round or flat didn't matter.
(I hadn't felt the urge to travel yet.)
The sun behind my back, 1 saw the Spectacle
Shop look back, two eyes outlined on wood
in black, 1 saw the butcher's blade
sharpen itself on the block, paring the heart
from its cage of bone, 1 saw prisms and gears
and clocks striking in unison the hours
of forgetfulness. 1 lay in the fields, sleeping
whenever the town slept, dreaming myself
small as a key· in a lock, then smaller still.
Or sleepless, 1 circled the town searching
for lighted windows, but the rooms were
poorly lit and the people only shadows;
when they touched each other,
their actions gave me pain, not pleasure,
and then I'd give up looking for an hour.
