(video by Márcia Good, Feb 2015)

Orion is clear tonight.

It sounds like the first line of a poem when it comes into my mind.

“Orion is clear tonight,”
as I take out my trash –
trash from years ago that
I finally peeled out of cardboard and plastic,
that seemed like luggage
but was actually
One Small Bag.

Orion is crisp, clear.

Tonight, after a week that held
The Day of Eating on Trains
(which sounded like an essay until the last train
hit a live wire and we sat
waiting first for the cold to enter,
then for our own heat
creeping into Crowd Fever,
and the only food to eat on this train,
this final train on The Day of Eating on Trains,
was an apple the knitting nurse
beside me couldn’t share
because she had a cold –
the same cold that anyway, apple or not, led to
The Days of Eating on Couches.)

Orion is clear tonight,
after two short blizzards and three long winter storms
kept me from arriving
and then kept me from leaving,
so I wore six items of clothing
for four consecutive days.
No one noticed because we
all were kept from leaving
and wondered if we would ever arrive.

Orion is clear tonight,
after The Week of Eating on Couches
and questions about
Why I Ever Left The Arizona Sun
are the brilliant novel I wrote in my head.

There is a shooting star in my lower back that
arrived when I ran for that last train of the week –
the one that brought me here,
where it seemed the only fitting
way to end and begin
was with a clearing of trash that
arrived too long ago for me to
remember ever leaving it there,
and to hitch my eyes
(in the cold by the bin in the alley)
to Orion,
who is clear.


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