Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Jordan Kapono Nakamura: “Slow Sun Exile”

a year can now be measured in weathered candles
five o’clock tea has been a bad friend
i’ve never had
for months they’ve been quiet in the frat houses
cupping hands around the fire, squinting at the chessboard
“Trade for my Queen, please,”
the pawn is replaced which is not a pawn
but a bottlecap no one bothers to find the pieces
that slip below the table making no sound as if the floor was the
bottom of a yucatan cave 200 feet deep
fallen leaves scrape the door
with the noise of tiny claws

the scent the promise of wax
wanders by like holy men
before the good Samaritan
Before Derrida, Pollock,
before the pirate bay was closed down
my mother would sing hymns to make me dream
and i would try to feel small
then later
i had mountains make me feel small

but we can no longer see any mountains

i found a page ripped from an old story
there were just nine sentences.
but it was enough.