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by Molly Brodak, Guernica

Leeuwenhoek was a draper with soft brown hair cut in two sloping planes like collie ears.

Close up he saw threads and then worldthreads and what was inside of that?

He held a rod of soda glass in flame until it pulled apart into whiskers.

The whisker tips tinked off into mini orbs, eyes and eyes upon his eye.

He saw kind rich men walking through the dark as if through a city.

Their silk ties lifting in wind. And tender underneath.

Phone wires bowing like sails. Skin smell and mush smell of roses.

A radio helplessly beaming horror whistles from Jupiter.

A girl holding a hair-threaded needle.  

Imagine what must be very far away, he thought,

very very far away!

Press here to play the MP3.

Molly Brodak is the author of A Little Middle of the Night (University of Iowa Press, 2010) and three chapbooks of poetry. She edits the poetry journal Aesthetix and teaches at Emory University.

Via  Guernica
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