selections from LIP
Eastern Washington University Press, 2009
by Kathy Fagan
ONTOLOGY AND THE PLATYPUS
So which mammalian fuck-up list produced
the platypus, produced the bird-billed, flat-foot, erstwhile
beavers dressed like ducks for Halloween?
Crepuscular and nipple-less,
they suckle hatchlings in the changeling dusk—
Diaphanously the god-swan boned
a married chick and she begot two eggs,
neither good. The launching of a thousand ships ensued.
Homer never saw a platypus,
though in his dreams he may have heard them growl,
a noise between a gurgle and a hiss.
The males are venomous. A plural
form of platypus does not exist.
NOSTOPHOBIA
Because rosehips swell redly on
the canes of the climbers
you tied back with twine
to four nails rusted
in the silver green siding,
I fear.
Because mud rut in the alley,
all gravel, wisteria, lame
dog, and dryer sheet.
Because red barn twist-falling
like the shot cowboy in a melodrama,
and the mellow drama of autumn
with its strata of maple leaves
that could bury a man
with a rake and his boots on.
Because the frost,
I fear,
earth heaving like my chest
that time.
Because Hades is, evidently, filled
with china, none of it matched,
and the night air breeds bats
that slip in on the breeze
and the day air, a cardinal’s song
I’m bound to forget the words to.
Because the thirty two windows tall enough to walk through,
their glazier dead a hundred years,
I fear.
Because the five windows of average size.
Because of all eight doors, three chimneys,
their carpenter and mason.
Because not a line is level
or an angle true.
Because no two measurements are equal.
Because, if it rolls, it will roll on those floors,
the oak floors with their intricate knowledge
of geometry, astronomy, entomology;
and the oak doors with their transoms,
the oak banister trained to my hand,
coffin turn at the top.
Because, among its many severities, its levity:
the mantels’ codpiece medallions,
staircase finial coming off in your hand
like a Christmas movie,
the Eat-Me Drink-Me radiators,
a basement missing
and the superfluous door that isn’t,
knob turning and turning and turning.
Because it took, likewise, a comic genius
to hang a ship’s chandelier
in the galley dining room
of a landlocked house.
Because sewing needles between the floorboards,
small vines climbing
the wallpaper.
Because alphabet and box fans.
Because the pink. Because the blue.
Because the acorn rains and the petal snows.
Because the old woman
who is always talking
tells the old man
who is never listening,
I visited the old house today.
Because their children’s children.
Because their marbles, cirrus clouds
caught inside.
Because in the future,
in my memory,
these rooms shall live
a great deal longer than I shall live,
I fear.
Because the stench of black walnut,
the lilac that never bloomed
and the forsythia that did,
the peonies and roses
pink and red against the silver green siding
we painted ourselves
in the color we had to have
Because of its name, which was Solitary.
SALOON PANTOUM
Tell me if you’ve heard this one before:
Guy walks into a bar with a duck down his pants,
Says, One for me and one for my friend here.
Barkeep says, That’s no friend, that’s my wife.
Guy walks into a bar with a duck down his pants.
A priest, a rabbi, and a minister
Say, Barkeep, that’s no duck, that’s proof
Of the existence of God.
A priest, a rabbi, and a minister
Put together can’t tell one good joke.
God knows this
But He cannot forgive them for it.
Wherever two or more are gathered in a joke,
There is love, He says. We hear this
But we cannot forgive Him for it.
Suddenly, crashing through the saloon doors,
There is love. And just as He’d said, we know it
By its blonde hair and dead babies.
Suddenly, crashing through the saloon doors,
What’s black and white and re(a)d all over.
By its blonde hair and dead babies,
He says, Barkeep, thou shalt know thy duck.
What’s black and white comes crashing through the door.
Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.
