“In Our Own Backyard”

You can’t imagine what it’s like here. In her past

life, she was a clandestine operator in ancient

Egypt. In a past life she had her heart ripped out,

ritual sacrifice. We all know what that

means, right, to have your heart ripped out. Torn

from the body, one’s “own” body, alive and torn.

The unspeaking speaker. The man coughs.

Orientation. Two bells, a motorcar on the

street, on-lookers. H22-3416. Men, maybe

four, inside. Vast numbers of people, faces

turned to the east. Four nurses holding four

swaddled babes, four bottles.

Six men walking forward on a country road

all wearing suits, coats, vests and ties. Upon

his shoulders, one of the men carries a man with

no legs. The man with no legs is wearing a

bathrobe. In a landscape a train passes from

top right to bottom left. People are packed inside

as well as on the roof and holding on at the sides.

One man, naked, his back turned to the

window, light on inside. A bird in a cage hung

on a hook at the top left-hand corner of the

window. A man in profile to the left, eyes closed

mouth open wide, singing. Or thought he was

singing. He did. Or we did. The back of a chair and

three tall mirrors. At their focal point a woman

stands, arms akimbo. She’s wearing evening dress

black high heels, long white gown, long black

gloves, necklace, earrings.

Outside the bakery, a horse-drawn hearse

approaches. A woman in an apron tests green grapes

eating them before placing bunches in a wooden

crate. Inside a Quonset hut, there’s a long

table with men sitting in chairs writing or paying

attention to one man standing at the table, hands

in the pockets of his jumpsuit. Shirtless men seated

on the floor, some on towels or blankets, are doing

exercises. Friday afternoon, cold grim day. We meet

in the museum, at a picture called “Birmingham.”

Sign on exterior wall saying “WELCOME.”

Source: Where Shadows Will (City Lights Books, 2009)