THE KNIFE-SHARP EDGE OF THE WORLD
He folds a page from the post-intelligencer in half.
Look, this will be our house, he says, stooping in below
the headline, “Snow in Forecast.” She makes herself
small to follow him inside.
They have no windows, but light moves through newsprint
illuminating stories in 11-point times roman.
Early morning, the cost of corn is big news;
midday, a rare bird alights in the schoolyard.
At dusk, lightning strikes a cow.
They have no need for clocks but want sharp scissors--
to carve a door, she explains.
The house trembles then,
black ink drips down walls,
discarded fonts cover their feet.
Somebody is rewriting the story of our lives,
he shouts in a panic. Quick, turn to page three!
Find a horoscope, the science report, anything.
In silence now, they watch papered walls
undulate in the wind, like someone waving, or maybe dancing.
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