Poetry |

“Six O’Clock” and “Midtown”

Six O’Clock

 

Movement disturbs Mimosa. The building

shivers; the plant plays dead.

 

Light bedazzles Mimosa. The television

glows; the plant comes to. Soon, sensing

 

night has come, it folds its leaves again.

Night has not; the segment was filmed in shadow.

 

The television presents a forest fire;

credulous Mimosa opens like

 

a human unafraid to sleep with someone

in the room. The television rolls

 

through its channels. Fire is everywhere.

“And now, live—” “Y ahora—” Like

 

a child at the mercy of a parent, the plant

has grown accustomed. Burnt fern thicket:

 

spasm. Blaze: unfurling. Its

name’s Morí Viví—died, lived.

 

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

 

Midtown

 

I touched a grapefruit & wet

my hand humidity

the vendor said & I put

three into the bag

he held open

I don’t recall his face

 

he offered me his arm

white canvas fragrant

of fruit of summer

 I bowed

my head & careful not

to put weight on him

dried my hands

 

this was

somewhere in Midtown

years ago seven eight

Contributor
Sally Dawidoff

Sally Dawidoff’s poetry appeared most recently in The Paris Review. She lives and works in New York City.

Posted in Poetry

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