my Bijou in afternoon smells chick hatchery
dried parsley, and old woman’s shoes…
then evening steeps it to bean soup
sour laundry soap and moldy windowsills
rats nose twitch and scurry each way over
through and under…conceiving…birthing
of their kind and oblivious to faint…faint hiss
of massed cockroach mouthing glue beneath
frail wallpaper…Chinese pagoda pattern
warm brown bats swarm to fecund evening
through jag-ed shard-ed windows…
while molting doves coo guttural on ledges
snatch spiders from dew spangled webs…
and chill shrinks wood to incremental creak
my Bijou…no longer courts a populace;
it slips now historic…with attendant new
assemblage resplendent in decay
“There’s a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, ’tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all: since no man has aught of what he leaves, what is’t to leave betimes?” William Shakespeare (Hamlet, 5.2.214)
To live as Brazilian Pirahã
is to be wholly in the present
where mists of past and future
are intangibles of time.
To live with Pirahã worldview
is to have no word for worry.
Dreamtime is the same as waketime…
To live on the Meici River
is to flow one with the moment
where death is observation
eyes close…breath stops…
and readiness is all.
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